Kreators - Foreign Lands lyrics

[Verse 1] The main attraction, the main event Kreators came for action, drama suspense Worldwide scorpio k**er Hundred yards down the road [?] Seven cards straight flush card dealer Born loser future drug and alcohol abuser [?] out maneuver through traps and move past Nowadays rappers wanna eat oysters and bad Rolls Royces f** that I get established, make different choices Live distinguished worth 1200 [?] golden fingers Have b**hes coming from CunninLynguists We all fighting Some with mic's writing some pa** the checks with fake license To skip indictment In '99 new jacks are too corny and too horny I bring it live like FBI true stories You got nothing new for me it's 2:40 in the am I stay in in the studio creating [Hook] We came to make y'all understand That it's all about beats and fans Kreators touring foreign lands Spread the word out, we touring foreign lands *It's international* [Verse 2: Jaysaun] I rose in the east, draped in ghetto [?] To rain fire like [?] in the face of Richard Pryor Stomp your chest 'til your lungs flatter than a tire You're quoting the Messiah throw rap and piano wires Some rappers are good biters their pens catch arthritis Whosever lyrics the tightest, hires the ghostwriters Too raw you can't smoke or sniff us And we splash semen in the face of your favourite b**hes, uh Vocal napalm, the bomb this is Jaysaun, remember me? Newspapers and dead fishes And dynamite [?] for all haters and critics No cards, you write diddicks You come back short like [?] and overhyped We can ball a fight Right when you're seeing daylight I swipe that mic And then torture whole [?] and all sorts of sports Whatever your brain thinks, next burn them thoughts For the cash and checks I talk more sh** than tourette's, me, G, Big Juan and X Throw [?] to the [?] rocks, baby the [?] My click gets looser than a stretched V-neck [Hook] [Verse 3] 95 percent of the rotation I don't need Low key, like I was on probabation of sold weed Live locally and think Globally See what you're worth when this beat get a hold of me You moving slow when my crew is pa**ing On the way by, swerving your lane sending you crashing Every lyric you drop in closed caption Cut short in their prime like Bo Jackson I got a method far from tame or domestic All I need is a beat to let my pen spin Went from a prentice to pulling teeth like a dentist Certified chemist and mic menace [Hook] [Verse 4: Big Juan] I use my mic like a pager, shaking n***as And use my [?] like a razor, scraping n***as Carve a K on your motherf**ing back You under attack like Iraq Finished bombing this track, then leave a b**by trap For the next rap act, group of singers Trynna get open or lose your face and fingers, what I got plenty for any, that offend me don't come out against me My freestyle's like a [?] colt that's never empty Born wrong with the gift of song It's inside me to guide me, [?] Big Juan That's why it's hard for me to be bragging Imagine one day you sagging the next you have a pearl band's wagon And that's my hussle, my brain's like a muscle Juan the Antipope, or work a track like aerobic On any opponent, I'm only here for the moment So I'm all up on it, at the studio like I own it, what [Hook]