Tumi - I'm k**ing lyrics

Published

0 121 0

Tumi - I'm k**ing lyrics

[Intro] [?] [Verse 1] Bustin', the twenty-thirteen Illmatic The thirty-plus T espasin' it, yo I heard 'em say "He's a has-been," the trippin' turns crip the tragic When the turtle out-thinks the rabbit But for the right deep and pa**ion, fertile like seeds turn the tide So you identify or certify cla**ic Murder per accident, I was just practicing rhythm, my raps The vernacular, there was rhymin'- beware of the shrapnel This here is an animal riven its mandible Setting its venom as well as these compared to a Labrador This here's honor roll, the legend has gotta go I means a rappin' a verse shoot you square it's like lavender oil Back on my art of a oratory I'm known for bringing a business like a bungalow corner store Catch your laces and bungee cord back to your mamma's corner I ignite 'em and burn anyone gas bomb orders f** the chorus, I'm just going instru' punching the chord While the lawyers huntin' for my missin' publishing forms Missus droppin' the daughter mission get campus for How my vision went from nappy n***a to napkin with a fork I'm munchin' like a screen rap f**in' on beanbags, watch as they'll call me back for a rematch 'Cause I put the pipe down like rehab Tea-baggin' the hunnies in your video-scene, ha! Meanwhile we back at Motif labs Putting bars on C-Max k**ing possie drags 'Cause back when you were dancin' and lean' back I had you time five yellow like the Chinese flag f** all these radio re-tracks Get Radio Raheem trying to radio evac' Tease back to f** up your sum of: the game needs that An' that E-cla** memory seat-back Went from calf of the rich black, call that decaff And still hot even with the AC max Big fat motherf**er, no six-pack Leave tracks in your head that won't let you relax (Goddamn) [Interlude] [?] [Verse 2] Ungh, it's twenty-fourteen but really It's the minute after I take off, beam And leave a lotta 'ittle 'em outta the way More people livin' when the k**ing starts Adolf Hitler kind of fashion Huge swastika, my swa** stick a the gas Rippin' an a** of your top-notch, whether he's real or not Jew get a ticket to watch them pissing their pants Witness a ma**acre, bam bam, with a sickle and hammer I'm Joseph Stalin on 'em, don't gotta want 'em, dane 'em I'm performin', name on the jumbo-tron as a fore-runner The audience want a encore, they calling out For all of them no response, call a coroner Heard no feedback at back to the CD Go there, ski-mask robbin' the children, I'm rappin', I'm k**in' What on the streets, now we soft at Motif An' I can sing if Rihanna believe it, how's that for a reason? 'Cause I keep my children perf', my kid X The real deal keenin' my youngsters of the master Know some others that are too broke, hands up I call the answer if you question our standards Yeah, this enigmatic with a little added thing about it Your rappin' dignitary wishin' he had it Anybody nappin', sleepin', get the pink blankets City rabid, don't think of battlin', I'm really a rabid Sickly dog, spittin' raw like the symptoms are showing Takin' one, k** an army without liftin' an arm T is gone, I'm mean rappin' n***a, not really gone Should be on, it's like to infinity and beyond Come see the boss if your Buzz like my [?] and lawn Full on for a budget for a couple of songs f**in' award like whitey from [?] Pump shots, top of the ball, no guns just metaphors Don't touch, or get knuckled up, bunched at the door Flow enough, fix your bubble lines with spike claws Sober up and discuss facts like once more Who hold the crime? The artist formerly Fatboy [Outro] I said that you would be number one [?]