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c-rayz walz & parallel thought - vomit chorus كلمات الأغنية

[verse 1: c_rayz walz]
you wanna match wits?
i put a lit match to ya’ lips, after gasoline chapstick
been to jail, but always felt school’s worse
and wrote this sh_t down before he heard doom’s verse
even though he’s crook, took the money, ran when he finished it
fam’s gotta eat, so we’ll reheat the dinner kid
heroin thoughts, made him dope with the swagger
and try to go plat’ with a cheap jug of goldschläger
who is this kid who smoke pot in a cop’s car?
and pulled his c_ck out, unidentified rockstar
summertime, catch me in the candy shop with hot bars
cool like keith, but his heat still poppa large
hole in your chest, for a fun pass
it get you address, you gotta walk through where guns blast
got the platinum crack or the smooth sh_t
more like african beads and heavy chew sticks
from a ruthless crooklyn kid that move swift
knock you out, leave your face right by his new p_ss
by himself in the crew [?]
surrounded by fat asses, said it helped him write new sh_t
move bricks, and tag his name in a taxi
man enough to go to target, and buy her maxis
pad full of plot, ain’t have pockets swole
ran with haitian kids who would cut ya’ battyhole
hustle and flow, mami cried ‘cause papi know
he tried to get his own wax on out, like ralph macchio
thinking fast with a slow thought
on the train looking strange, his lady and his son had a mohawk
rude girl, facing mad, fingernail jamaican flag
epileptic flows that had grandma shaking bad
making dad turn over in his grave
like ‘kiss my ass, my son won’t spit like a slave’
one or two_ish floor raps, this the first time he heard rhyme
the industry doors, had the ‘do not disturb’ sign
and that’s that sh_t, that’ll cause a iller kid to ride
on the makaveli flip like bishop yelling ‘riverside’
you follow that? you spit like you swallow tacks
for p&j sandwiches, told cats ‘holla back
got the gat? yup, for ignorance we’ll all die
which makes less sense than a large order of small fries, all rise
he lost it when he found it
moms wouldn’t let him go to school, said he sound sick
on some calm sh_t, count bars like a convict
until the time for the break then, vomit
[verse 2: mf doom]
(“doom”)
it’s the beat, i hear it in my sleep sometimes
blare it in your jeep so your peeps can stare at the rhymes
real rhymes not your everyday hologram
even when ribs is touchin’, never swallowed the ham
he’d rather eat a sand sandwich salad
it might need salt like your man’s bland ballad
a lot of stuff happens that the news won’t tell you’s
blues on l juice, snooze, all h_ll loose
rake it, take it like the good, the bad, the ugly
break it rollin’ through ya hood in the caddy buggy
b_tter softly, leather flossy, fatty juggy
always threw me off when she told me, “daddy, funk me”
i’m like, “anywho’s”
seeds walkin’ all out in the street without any shoes
i guess it’s better than some funky socks
you need to get her some skips before she catch the monkey pox
she wanna hear the beatbox
take pills and make fake krills as sheetrock
sing it, bring it, back to your laboratory
while he’s in his oratory, glorious like a horror story
the mask is like jason
he told the place not to let the basket type case in
he might be some type of wacko
lookin’ for a chance to heat the pipes like a crack ho
he said, blessed be the lord
who believe any mess they read up on a message board
if so, i got a bridge for the low low
them type fools go b_tch to the popo
here, orange peel l’s for the whole tier
feel like he been gone the whole year, came home to old gear
it was the sh_t when he first scooped it
at least you get to sit out in new york and curse stupid
he plead the fifth, and sip wine stiffly
patiently come up, and be spiffy in a jiffy
gift with the grind, criminal mind shifty cat
swift with the nine through a 59_50 hat
you hear it when you meditate in deep theta
let her hate the creep later
dedicated cheapskater who keep data
stay well self_medicated to sleep later
side effects is similar to sugar pill
n0body go next on the mic, he put a booger, ew
and made his exit on some calm sh_t
beg on the regs for the kegs of the vomit
(“doom!”)

- c rayz walz parallel thought

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