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slingun - soundless souled sottish كلمات الأغنية

[hook:] (x2)
rap’s spatterin’ me with its spangles
i’m a sower comin’ from the southward ridin’ on a spanker
speakin’ spanish, spittin’ random rhymes from my sparger
a soundless souled sottish spunyardin’ with his spryness

[verse 1:]
and i can’t control it everytime i’m comin’ down i tear it up
clasp my lungs, fill my mouth with some cussings and just spit a track, chillin’ out with tough lions cause it’s nothin’ but a comfortin’ pride; don’t sh-t your pants if i ever roar!; i pluck the parrots when they prattle, babble when they mounte-bank; i’m a poor plutocrat, squanderin’, scatterin’ gags and comebacks to this squalid squirrels cause i love to see ’em reboundin’ to their dray, a spright-liness squabbler squabblin’ against a dyk- squadron, i get out there unrushed like a spotless actor seein’ his stuntman fight, sprout in a stam-er
an argentinian actinolite cat’s eye sunked in the suds of such a
crook, of unsound mind , but he’s the wheelman of his pub-lic
(follow him to the promised land) a bliss, a paradise, the finest place where you can inhale the ideal life
tap dancers wearin’ wedding attires dancin’ over the grave of my dad; not everythin’ in this whole lot’s pink but anyways my cherished colour’s light green like my snots or she hulk’s bush
i’m a mow in the lawn, b-tch…

[hook:] (x2)

[verse 2:]
and i overcome ’em, right off my bat, no pun intended but i’m
comin’ down, call me samuel dye; a rowdy ruffian crumblin’ the
wrinkled crack of his grandma with wrath and then withdraw
his sperm cells of her vag with a mop submerged on floor wax
i’m kiddin’ she’s up, just wanted to know how much i can add without don’t listenin’ a sanitized line (c-nt, b-tch, miscarriage, f-ck);
lyrics resoundin’ on my eyes as slugs in shoot-out, who’s the point blank? like sam in trance durin’ colan’s cl-sses after touchin’ the allspark, they’re comin’ in plumb and i’ll plough ’em like wheat at a farm, pickaback, can’t relax, need a fap, a humpback of huffs, i’m nought but also pox like rust of diseased mad cows that suicide jumpin’ over one of those traps with spikes, i slit you spine due to the neurostimulation bein’ conveyed, as the crow flies, from my vocal chords directly to your eardrum, da dum tympan i’m tryin’ to trail ya’ to my umber, to the middle (e)ar-ea of my tort, y’all trapped with my flow, y’all subnormal hoes are jerry, i’m a tom-ahawk, but what would be of us without the each other, a p-ssy and a snitch, catch the double entendre here cause when the feline’s away, the mice get stuffed with those things that are for sale on the ann summers’ cat-alogue;
but if this song got an epilogue it’ll be: don’t do sh-t! cause you’ll end up with the pedagogue suckin’ his d-ck, so don’t forget this: soundless souled sottishes doesn’t show fatigue, this ain’t the pseudological apologue of the hare and the turtle; so better define me as the nouvelle vague of this rhythmical genus of art, capiche?

[hook:] (x2)

- slingun

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