Gaston - All Angles lyrics

[Intro: Prime] What up? You seen ‘em on the TV show, heard ‘em on the radio. Prime, Rise, Gaston, C-Rayz. Wake the f** up! From all angles. What? Uh huh [Verse 1: Prime] Who want to start it? What?!? I'll put holes through your retarded bu*t Then run through clubs with butcher knives for those that needed some party cuts ‘Cause y'all are f**ed, your songs s**, and your vocals are sloppy I'll wipe my f**ing a** with your promotional copy All of y'all sloppy cats don't deserve to rap. Y'all deserve a smack (Why?) ‘cause every single verse is wack Observe the facts, just face it: n***as know I'm the man In battles, I'm taking cheap shots like disposable cans I spit butane. I'm burning kids from blocks with acute aim I shoot game at cute dames, unzip strippers with loose change I'm too strange. “Damn artist”—that's the word in the streets I got producers pressing charges ‘cause I'm murdering beats You cats are lame and soft and lucky my aim is off I don't got a gun or I'd leave you with more holes than a game of darts Y'all cats be hating me on stages like, “That kid Prime is selfish” ‘Cause I grab my dick when I rhyme and y'all grabbing somebody else's [Verse 2: Rise] I'll be rapping in spots ‘til my casket is locked And stand out if I'm the first or the last one that rocks Sometimes, I don't not care. Most times, I do (Don't be yourself) And no self-respecting emcees would rhyme like you (Should be ashamed of yourself) The rhymes I do will make sure: the world, I own it My n***as burn trees ‘til birds and squirrels are homeless I rhyme at a higher level than the buildings in ghettos (Pretty high) And heard my voice doesn't have enough ba**, too much treble Still lethal with raps, eating underground wax With features on tracks, k**ing notes that seeps through the cracks (Uh uh) ‘Cause I'm an ill emcee. I'm unique, I'm what the rest aren't (What'd you do?) I dropped Knowledge ‘cause his a** tried to get smart Hear you at your shows when you flow with your group (And what?) And pray that I could find a volume level lower than mute I'll give you the boot. I'll leave mics and the stage boozed You wack—songs like yours get the DJs booed (Hahaha) [Verse 3: Gaston] You want to battle who? I break a rapper in two Then look you in the face like, “That could be you” Then proceed to scatter your crew all over the avenue Now I'm a legend in your town and I was just pa**ing through Now Gaston's a new king, teach you a few things—I'm nifty I don't look for trouble. I bring it with me Have you singing a new tune like Whitney or Mahalia Rock from the Windy City to Sydney, Australia. You? Been known around the world as a failure. I'm the man—your girl tell ya She looked pretty as a picture, so I nailed her You're so wack, your label mailed your sh** back And derailed your vocal track. The same beat with some other cat Now who's next up to bat? (Sick-a, sick-a C-Rayz!) Get on the mic and bring the heat wave [Verse 4: C-Rayz Walz] You get moron than oxy, make sense sound stupid No love like the dead body of Cupid It's them raw kids, crossing drawbridges, snuffing trolls All this dough. Numskull, barking souls My crew's fly, jumping out the airplane, no parachute We don't perish. Truth pair and loop in clone studios You got the cooties, yo. Drop sh** like clumsy booty flow What, he say, “Booty,” yo? We wet-hands-sticking-a-plug-into-the-socket rap Circle your dome with soundwave stocking caps and rocking a** Blowing up like TNT bubblegum. Dare to trouble one C-Rayz Walz like Harry Crumb (Who? Who?) Your face is affectionate, embraces jack You went to Lyricist Lounge just to take a nap With no fear, I attack whoever goes there Spit in your face and burn your nose hair You a dickhead twice—that makes you ridiculous/redickulous (Dickulous) We come through inconspicuous Types of line in your rhyme almost made me laugh As if that was insult like Bill Clinton wearing a durag [Outro: Prime and (C-Rayz Walz)] Mother. (Pinstripes and fat laces). Mother, we just had fun on the track