lil kydd - wai·fu (wī-fo͞o) n. كلمات الأغنية
my styles are dumb
bars smarter than all the harvard yard
sending a beat to the promised land in a shopping cart
stick to your target and your wally-mart
me and my bag of tricks are sittin in the alleyways and parking lot
i chop you down like george washington
watch the kick and the snare
see how they go nuts like washington carver
got a hold of an mpc?
word to the holy father
for granting me rhymes as i spit to thee
better fade like a tipsy barber
drunk off of the gin and the juice;
the loud and the quiet
the chai tea in the vodka
i’ve no need for the ganja;
instead i grind raps in a fine powder
roll em up and then i spark ya;
and now for the toss up
who’s it gonna be? little red hood or the trenchcoated monster?
mixed with a quart of allspice and a pint of java
coppin rudimentary flows
but the punchlines, allegories and metaphors? boxer
think you proper?
im’ma snap you like a pocky
your sloppy. couldn’t tell the creeds from the rockies
little mac in the den of the kydd and he gettin bodied;
give him a couple of rights and down he goes. four stocks, g
spittin as hot as the keys of alicia
you read me i’m clean but i’m crisp like the bottom of a greaser
i’m the kinda rapper you oughta be nice to
unless you and your whole crew wanna lose your waifus
[that’s your f*cking waifu, homes! go get her!]
one time for the one here comes that ;
pulpit hopping music dropping
nuisance of a rapper;
backslashers better start running
hastaggers stuck on the stunting
lil kydd ain’t in this for nothing;
gonna get a ring off of saturn
put it on my back and get cutting
get me in a track and i flip it
gymnastic get to the tuckin;
and i whack a nine-bar upon you
tsuzuryu with the bludgeon
force trauma
and a dull pain in your back region;
fall back or get eaten
…
kobayashi for the
lot of the red shirts;
i’m picard and you wheaton
with a beef and a bone to pick;
i’m always sick
you nothing but a vegan
sitting on the mic coughing wheezing
heavy breathing
cleanest heathen
meanest, leanest of the game
in a suit coat;
beyond all right, rhyme or a reason
i’m a machine i’m a fiend
i’m whatever you want me to be
when i put my two feet on the scene
you gimme the quarantine;
a medieval rhyming scheme
put it on top of a shoulder lean;
kids avoid me like lima beans
tryna be 5’2″
running with a harpoon
at a monsoon and a kaiju?
well, fine im’ma light you
put a good word in for the young boy and the waifu
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