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fashawn - from the creation كلمات الأغنية

[verse 1: fashawn]
look in the mirror: are you a reflection or an image?
a person or a persona, real thing or a gimmick?
i hate when rappers get on the mic and act timid
they must have never came in contact with a menace
in the lab with the ‘chemist, loading up ammunition
in my path for the listeners, fans, and the critics
n-ggas out getting it, trying to advance to a million
and trying to their fam in positions
where they ain’t gotta rap, shoot hoops or pitch grams for a living
10 g’s to a hundred grand, keep it consistent
the exact definition of a man on a mission
to take over the land, expand demolition
wonder how many syllables i can cram in this sentence?
like a general i command your attention
i be k!lling ‘em, every stanza is venom
in my b-boy stance, can’t help but glance at a n-gga

[verse 2: the alchemist]
so in the summer i’m getting dumber
doing my digits, doing my numbers
rappers are similar, six are 1, half-a-dozen are the other
i’m custom cut control, rock a windsuit and some timberlands
touch the floor and guard my sp-ce, ‘til they carve my face
in the side of a mountain like rushmore
i’m prophetic, doctor the drums with a medic
could end up like i’m fresher than lettuce and get shredded
i’m ready, yo, i’ll stand next to the sprinkler without getting wetted
don’t step in my circle, no doubt, get deaded
serve ‘em no cut like video footage without the edit
emperor, thinking, “what the f-ck i need a pencil for?”
when i could scr-pe the corners without a desert?”
i’m a criminal into vandalism
whoever want attention, stomp ‘em out and whoever’s standing with ‘em

[verse 3: roc c]
i’m the line-deliverer, used to be sinister
six shots in the glock, pop at your senator
tend to be nice, put a price on my own life
then i thought about: better off k!lling myself
i’m the, rhyme-ratcher, gun packer
i’ll b-tch smack a n-gga up then laugh after
cold cash or back to dirty braids, back to crime pays
back on my parkay, buddy or entrée
i’m the bombay, general strikes
john forté, moonwalk in on the court date, the boy’s late
puff puff p-ss to another date
clock stopped tickin’ now, guess that’s my fate
hold weight, fornicator skate out the front door
been smoking so long, i know i’ll never overdose
still petrol, me, i’m not
tie ‘em up, leave a note at your spot, like we need that

[verse 4: oh no]
in the symphony, orchestrated, of course they hate it
the forces foreign, dangerous flow, painting a picture
off rhythmic movement, move with music
moods is muses, dumbfound stupid nuisance
new sh-t, hang ‘em like nooses ‘til their brain part
their nucleus, i’m nuke ‘em and show ‘em we do this
got no, foolish focus, i pray for my foes
folks posted unnoticed, near when the twin’s bolstered
i get toasted and toasted bottles of moet
then pour it out for my old set
gangrene, that’s a threat on the globe
verbal tech, technicians, herbal vet load the ammunition
made them k!ll the ambition with this man’s wisdom
then gas and match in the brain, more enlighten ‘em
pay attention or played attention
y’all lame, y’all rather play in the pain olympics, uh…

- fashawn

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