Illuminate - Kamikaze lyrics

Tell the producer to use the clap board They walkin' into the trap door Most of 'em act like rap lords At least they got the attitude and confidence But I have one task fo' put this con in rest I'll get your a** floored, one task, one lasts Little punk a**, you're standin' against the task force I don't give a f**, like people who cum fast Punch back, actin' scumbag, with a fake attitude You must have, cut cla**, your mind is stuck in A padded room, I damage crews I have a conduct disorder, my dad had it too Would you see him as a responsible father? If I would k** a beat for a couple of dollars, adding whoops Would I be accepted in a catholic school If I would be f**ing a doctor, cause she was Refusing me of f**ing her daughter Is it funny now? It's pretty funny cause I'm tired of rappers who ain't flowing, their flow is water Free, we call it running mouths, here goes another, see Another emcee with mean personality What you mean you adding me, we having beef I know you hear you mamis scream, stuck in the basement Forget about pronunciation, as long as you live with Your momma, don't matter affiliations, been months since you've paid rent Don't even know if you've paid it Hip-Hop is the princess, I'm the young prince who save it Your tongue spins, might think we're related Idiots win, but don't know how they made it Is this too complex for you? Never seen no apartments? One rule, I never lose If you ever knew, I'm rippin' apart mens Raps at they own expense, hense I'm actually nice though, the ladies know I'll turn the shuffle on your iPhone to crazy mode Throwing punches like Michael, and maybe chose The wrong road, but I know, that the haters State on thing, but actually say reload I'm k**ing this now, what is America without A president? What's the game without me How do syllables sound? Ain't got no villa uptown Can't even pronounce Beverly Hills I'm chin-chilla, no sound, I'm hip-hop's energy drink I'm red like the devil, no bull, I terror where terrorists live You could never predict how dirty it gets I've made you my personal b**h I'm the king, why would they never admit? I don't count bars, cause I don't have any bars to count Never met the cops uptown, I ain't wanna clown I don't have large amounts of cash But I've dropped more punches than Michael God damn, that's gotta count Your music goes in from the right and out of the left ear Keep it up, yell clear, and tell me more 'bout next year How you gon' blow up, all your homies show up But I still smell fear, bring you in a closeup You can't sit with the grown ups So that's what you're made of That's my platinum status, that's why critics do the cla**ification That all rappers are the same, sounding same Yeah I won't out with your name, cause that's also What many rappers do to mount on the fame Never would like to be him, never would like to lean to it These rappers rap, but could've sworn they can't feel music No I won't go or be stupid, I'm the next cla**ic Puttin' out racks, b**h, too good for my own good I even text magic Learn to act, sh**, you ain't all that, what you call that You don't ball man, you licking on some balls and Call it balling, I get it, couldn't even feel it, I'll k** it Suspicious why they won't put me on the tracks, just a kid it's, all-in