M. Slago - Elysium lyrics

[Proximo] So, after five years of scratching a living in flea infested villages, we're finally going back to where we belong. The colosseum. *Inhales* Oh, you should see the colosseum, Spaniard. Fifty-thousand romans; watching. every movement of your sword. Willing you to make that k**er blow. The silence before you strike. And the noise afterwards. It rises, it rise up like – a storm. As if you were the Thunder God, himself [Maximus] You were a gladiator? [Proximo] Yes, I was.. [TyRaiD] Slago, what up? Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2) Gotta n***a feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can't stop me. No, ya can't stop me!” Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2) Gotta n***a feelin' like J League in they prime, n***a! Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! Yo, disrespecters get dissected and severed apart/ Separate sections buried in several spots/ I'm thirty minutes into seven o'clock/ Terminal with the text, I'm surgical with the sentence, where the hell is my medical garb?! / Earning frequent flyer rapid rewards/ Playin' connect the dot with the map, rappin on tours/ The Arizona a**a**in brandishin' swords/ Your patterns bore me, more annoying than that black chick who sang for Sanderson Ford/ Your lines bogus, lyin' bout ridin' Porsches/ Self-entitled nonsense, get off your high horses/ Or I'll dismount you coons/ I'll crash through windows, grab you, make us do a somersault, and throw you out the room/ You stupid ba*tards and beyond raw/ I run up on unsuspecting rappers, hara**in' them like the Nardwuar/ RoQ's the Incredible Hulk in your concert speakers/ Fieldgoalin' Volkswagen Beetles, flingin' parking meters/ Eatin' weak emcees with Chianti and Farver Beans/ I hate you n***as like my mama's Paula Deen/ I scoff at your exhausted dreams/ Presenting intellectual art for this garbage scene, for listening to these bars, I should charge a fee/ I'll make a k**ing in the game, like Aaron Hernandez/ I wrote this lyric in my brain while preparing a sandwich/ Every parable's savage, veritable cla**ic/ You squares better stay in your lane for a fairer advantage/ Instead of kissing bu*ts over customer service/ This suburban brotha hustles like corrupt ushers in southern churches/ ‘Til my buzz is perfect. Derek Fish in the clutch/ Too many lames around the table, that's Dinner With Schmucks/ I laugh at these clowns, pa** your bag and piece out/ Or I'll dispatch of thee, Japanese Samurai style, you ain't “active” you're Action League Now/ The rebirth of thee herb/ M.O.B. t-shirts, skinny jean squeezers, pretending to be nerds/ You better do your research, or you'll be desert/ You critics eat dirt, like Roger Ebert, you obsolete jerk/ Throw pedals on my feet, like I'm parading through Ancient Rome/ Greet me with a mini-me Khaleesi from the Game of Thrones/ It's safe to say, I made my bones/ Me and my age bracket brought dope a** rappin' back from the endangered zone/ What you n***as listenin' to is the changin of guards/ Eighties babies, nineties kids, the head of the table is ours/ Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2) Gotta n***a feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can't stop me. No, ya can't stop me!” Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2) Gotta n***a feelin' like J League in they prime, n***a! Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! [Proximo] I wasn't the best because I k**ed quickly. I was the best because the crowd loved me. Win the crowd and you'll win your freedom [Maximus] I will give them something they have never seen before [TyRaiD] For this whole duration, you're my slaves. No escapin' the fathoms of my imagination/ I'm to cyphers what Manhattan is to Patrick Bateman/ When it comes to rhymin', I am vengeful/ Disembowel rappers, throw they sacrificial a**es down the stairs of Mayan Temples/ My British fans like “man, you're mental. You're whole project is monumental/ You're the type of artist that has potential” / My socket's loose, I'm Doctor Doom, shockin' you pompous coons/ Drop the mic and grip a mop and broom, you've not improved/ Your concert's full of constant “BOO!” s/ Everybody wants to leave, like when Chris Bosh's in a locker room/ Ominous plots for depositin' guap/ Generic tats, saggin' women's pants, you look like Androgynous Pac/ Who you slain raw, hustlin' trees/ You grew up playing pogs, watchin' My Brother and Me/ You see, I don't believe in leisure, I've got a comfortable lead/ It's R-O-Q-Y, T-Y-R-A-I-D! One more time/ Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2) Gotta n***a feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can't stop me. No, ya can't stop me!” Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2) Gotta n***a feelin' like J League in they prime, n***a! Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! [Proximo] So, Spaniard, we shall go to Rome together and have bloody adventures! And the great who*e will s**le us until we are fat and hungry, and can s**le no more. And then, when enough men have died – perhaps you will have your freedom