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soul position - still listening (remix) كلمات الأغنية

[intro] [jakki talking]
yo… yo
that’s a cl-ssic slang before a motherf-ckin’ rap song
just thought i’d toss that sh-t in

[jakki tha motamouth]
i’m glad n-ggas hate when i mash in the place
get you mad when i palm your b-tches -ss in your face
i laugh when you fake
cause you look silly when i apply whiteout to your gluteus son
your -ss is erased
tell that r-t-rded kid i won’t battle his friend
so he lost and i’ll smack him if he asks me again
you slightly tired and grim
to rhyme like me
you need to ask your god permission to be higher than him
then we heard you spit, ain’t rippin’ me chief
hit the road like you tryin’ to stick your d-ck in the street
kick in your t–th
you can’t bite, you suckin’ on corn
your ugly mom got a d-ck, now how the f-ck was your born?
i eat p-ssy, so you? you know i’m gonna go through
i’m lookin’ at your b-tch, wondering how the f-ck she chose you
i make a cake and you’re the main ingredient
yeah i heard your tape
so what are you? a stand up comedian?
i lie too much
i’m such a disgrace
i tell n-ggas they dope just to get them out my face
i’m able to read stunts and i’m eyein’ your freak
she’s been faithful for three months and she dyin’ to cheat
listen to this cat
he way out in sp-ce
n-gga you wack, you need to get the f-ck up outta my face
it’s jakki from the weathermen crew
you know, the one who all you n-ggas say is better than you
and i’m sittin’ in this ciphers with these babblin’ l’s
your cipher is boring, here let me battle myself
you n-ggas are gettin’ mopped kid
i trust you suck
say i’m weak around your pops and he’ll f-ck you up
you’re losing your health, losing your belt
hop in your body, look in the mirror and watch you lose to yourself
motherf-ckers are lunch when i brawl
put you in a headlock
bite on your cranium and crunch on your skull

[copywrite]
rashaad your music is dog sh-t, cat
don’t ever talk cr-p
been signed for five years
still can’t reach the level i’m at
gettin’ jerked by every label you f-ck with
your sister’s got talent
was it your mom or you who taught her to suck d-ck?
used to have the number two crew before they stepped, soldier
no logic and tage left
now you got leftovers
beats are a pity plus your singin’ is sh-tty
no one knows y’all cause y’all ain’t done a thing in the city
and none of you chumps can’t f-ck with half the clans i sh-t on
i’ll k!ll rashaad
now you don’t have a chance to get on
your -ss represents about as much as a black president
cd sounds like the lox with a cash deficit
you half steppin’ it
y’all ain’t battle equipped
sh-t, i’ll sell you one of my rhymes to battle me with
i could go on for days on how poor you b-tch queens are
but no one knows you so you ain’t worth more than 16 bars

[blueprint]
this rap war
keep us on the move like matadors
three role models, invade your catalogs
we heard you got stacks of props and wax galore
i bum rush the front
jakki’s at the back door
you ran as expected
scared to show your spine
jetted for the exit
right into his clothesline
hit the ground and blacked out
drops your gold mine
woke up and saw we had you set up the whole time
i keep tabs
on crabs with loose lips
i follow ’em to work
doc-ment their movements
i stake out open mics
i listen to they music
i even take fl!cks of the chicks they fool with
fool proof, bullet proof
plan that can’t fail
to black mail big money cats that rap frail
they chewin’ off they fingers
they bitin’ at the nail
greenhouse celebrated with a gl-ss of ale
they never saw me comin’
i k!ll beef sk!llfully
i got three verses for cats that ain’t feelin’ me
the first one’s subliminal without your ident-ty
the other two got your name if you try to sh-t on me
that’s three
for each mc i don’t speak to
i start with the veterans
i finish with the weak crews
don’t -ssume i can’t write about it till i meet you
i had a verse ready before i had beef with you
i see you tryin’ to steal my spark
but don’t think your closed mind can box in my art
for crews that wanna bite, i’ll put a dagger in your heart
break up your cipher, leave it lookin’ like a pie chart
i hope you like second place
you’ll have to settle
the consolation prize is in bronze medals
vice like my grip, we can thumb wrestle
i have your hands lookin’ like an auntie aunt’s pretzel
i’m bigger than b-ss lines
bigger than beat tapes
bigger than 45’s and bigger than beat breaks
i’m bigger than bootleggers
bigger than cheapskates
bigger than internet hype and album release dates
i shine on dirty dubs and f-cked up mix downs
i shine in closed caption, when you can’t hear a sound
the testament to my sk!ll is you’re still listenin’
forty bars later and never lost attention

- soul position

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