Training Season - Vagabondz lyrics

[Intro: GP x King Caexar] GP: Ayo, ayo This that sh** that make you wanna grab a motherf**er by his neck and hold him against the wall and say "where the f** your money at n***a?" This that sh** that make you wanna Punch an old lady in the face This that sh** that make you wanna kick a f**ing kitten n***a, yeah i said kick a f**ing kitten n***a... King Caexar: Cla**ic sh**....uh it's that cla**ic sh** Yo Kouga Clan and sh**... Check it out...uh [Verse 1: King Caexar] Fact is you couldn't catch a flow on river rapids Capsized without a boat row, and no life jackets leave an adversary punk'd like Kutcher prank targets Like a butcher in the market place wrapping is a habit Practice on the Sabbath, master the art of stabbing n***as sharper than desert cactus, actors can catch the hatchet Caexar burn a hard body quicker than lactic acid So the way I see it, spitting heat is only pragmatic (Uh) So keep a musket, bullets i got an octet Limbs are torn separate, like a**orted bar magnets Invading radio ahead of my time Like a n***a forgot to wind the dial back On the Casio clock design [Hook: GP] It's that cynical sh**, lyrical grit lure with beautiful spit Darker than the trench of ocean basin pit Stronger than the stench of liquid from the cup that Satan sip (Oh!) [Verse 2: King Caexar] And n***as try please harlots With quartz karats carved by Duddy Kravitz Betty bops consume crystal rock like crack addicts n***as empty bank vaults to feed they bad habits Men rarely succeed to achieve American dreams And happiness they never have it Sit and glean over obscene bunny rabbit magazine Deluxe keep it golden Gringotts and purely candid Serving n***as like teen match-ups with ascots Swinging tennis rackets dealing out bars And trap menace with hammered mallets Plenty conflict when n***as discover empty wallets Bury the hatchet so, never sweep beneath the carpets Ethics forgotten so souls are rotten Like carca** sitting inside the coffin Devoured by the maggots, empowered by the ma**es Flow stretch longer than b**hes up in yoga cla**es Soda wine gla**es, sorta like mola**es Chance doors open like fat a** when gas pa**es [Hook: GP] It's that cynical sh**, lyrical grit lure with beautiful spit Darker than the trench of ocean basin pit Stronger than the stench of liquid from the cup that Satan sip (Oh!) [Verse 3: King Caexar] By now a n***a expects to catch the Tempest On the hook like fish that collects in ba** basket, cuz i be putting that n***a on everything like frank sauce packet Like the mechanic with the tool box He's dealing with the ratchet Working hard until my heart stops so Tonight i just might sleep in casket Like that orphan without an a**et son, he's probably a ba*tard Rum in cabinet, get n***as to elaborate On the gossip stuck up in they palate Call em Brasco they prolly parrot, fake, rocking masks like Zorro swinging rapier from a f**ing chariot Flows i push like empty carts by hobos on the salvage Call me Geronimo son, I fight to stay a savage Your weak is my advantage, anarchy and carnage Bodies dropped like fetuses up in a miscarriage One with the holy place, on tracks he rapes Like dude that lace drinks, offering b**hes a taste [Hook: GP] It's that cynical sh**, lyrical grit lure with beautiful spit Darker than the trench of ocean basin pit Stronger than the stench of liquid from the cup that Satan sip (Oh!) [Outro: GP] That's what i like...that's...that's...what the f** happened to the f**ing beat man? I was really bumping that sh** man...f** man