Poisonous Taoist Lyrics
| Song | Poisonous Taoist |
| Artist | Afu-Ra |
| Album | State Of The Arts |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Phillip, Rovira | |
| "Poisonous taoist!" | |
| "Afu-Ra!" | |
| "The body of the life force!" | |
| [Afu-Ra] | |
| The body of the life force, scientifical street nigga | |
| I walk with a limp, no pimp sign, I'm an urban gorilla | |
| Rough and rugged, plus I keep it realer than realer | |
| Stomp these streets, I'm known as a mic killer | |
| With vintage lines, that vintage rhyme | |
| Black circles around rap camps, I be the lord of the rhyme | |
| Whose the prettiest, baddest, most more, know down | |
| G-O-D, Blackie Chan, watch me shut it down | |
| Incredible, my credit is credibly credible | |
| Put hoes up in the track, like heavy metal do | |
| Cats act up, I hit 'em with the John Woo | |
| Yo, I chop 'em up, hit 'em up, and rip 'em up | |
| The Lion King's in town, boy, it's murder on the sound boy | |
| So line your favorite cottage rappers to sing it | |
| Like Keith Murray; my Def Jams, they will get in ya | |
| I slice and dice my competition like a ninja | |
| [Chorus x2] | |
| [Afu-Ra] | |
| Now let me introduce you, to the man, the myth, the mental | |
| Influential, bi-centinial, lyrical spiritual material | |
| Hittin' you like a literal miracle | |
| Settin' fire to the streets, that's my ritual | |
| Fossils of my rap book, left for anthropoligists | |
| Show 'em how amazing the jazz, I'm blazing the hooks | |
| Heavily heavily, intertwine with the melody | |
| Deadly deadly, kill the tracks with my medly | |
| Give me that mic fool, you only stuntin' and frontin' | |
| Fluffin' and bluffin', and ain't sayin nothing, stop fronting | |
| The way I shoot the gift, I'm sick with this | |
| I make crowds flip, I'm a hip hop therapist | |
| And you can do the hustle, freak ya body, bounce | |
| But I gotta spit fire, so I'm sure to get ya every ounce | |
| I'm worth my weight, and gold and all it's luster | |
| Step up in the place (Woo-Hah) like I'm Busta | |
| [Chorus x4] | |
| [Afu-Ra] | |
| Hold up, wait, the sounds kinda knocking | |
| Dreaded they up in the club, let's get it poppin' | |
| Jolting compositions as if I was a virus | |
| One breathe to raise the dead, those try to ride this | |
| and of course, I take it back to the hood | |
| Afu riggedy Ra, in the hood, raw like a porno is | |
| A wild brother but I dip like a corn fiddle | |
| Trey eight, snubnose, type of flow, get a gun, though | |
| I'm nasty, as we had it with this | |
| I eat rappers, alive, as if my name was Hannibal, kid | |
| Perverted Monk, medicating in the cut | |
| Flying guillotine raps, aiyo, I cut shit up | |
| Masterin' the art, technique dycatomy | |
| Straight up yo, I'm bout to catch a body like Gotti | |
| At home in my zone, who feel the ecstasy | |
| Explicitly, the lyrical telepathy | |
| [Chorus x4] |
| zuo qu : Phillip, Rovira | |
| " Poisonous taoist!" | |
| " AfuRa!" | |
| " The body of the life force!" | |
| AfuRa | |
| The body of the life force, scientifical street nigga | |
| I walk with a limp, no pimp sign, I' m an urban gorilla | |
| Rough and rugged, plus I keep it realer than realer | |
| Stomp these streets, I' m known as a mic killer | |
| With vintage lines, that vintage rhyme | |
| Black circles around rap camps, I be the lord of the rhyme | |
| Whose the prettiest, baddest, most more, know down | |
| GOD, Blackie Chan, watch me shut it down | |
| Incredible, my credit is credibly credible | |
| Put hoes up in the track, like heavy metal do | |
| Cats act up, I hit ' em with the John Woo | |
| Yo, I chop ' em up, hit ' em up, and rip ' em up | |
| The Lion King' s in town, boy, it' s murder on the sound boy | |
| So line your favorite cottage rappers to sing it | |
| Like Keith Murray my Def Jams, they will get in ya | |
| I slice and dice my competition like a ninja | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| AfuRa | |
| Now let me introduce you, to the man, the myth, the mental | |
| Influential, bicentinial, lyrical spiritual material | |
| Hittin' you like a literal miracle | |
| Settin' fire to the streets, that' s my ritual | |
| Fossils of my rap book, left for anthropoligists | |
| Show ' em how amazing the jazz, I' m blazing the hooks | |
| Heavily heavily, intertwine with the melody | |
| Deadly deadly, kill the tracks with my medly | |
| Give me that mic fool, you only stuntin' and frontin' | |
| Fluffin' and bluffin', and ain' t sayin nothing, stop fronting | |
| The way I shoot the gift, I' m sick with this | |
| I make crowds flip, I' m a hip hop therapist | |
| And you can do the hustle, freak ya body, bounce | |
| But I gotta spit fire, so I' m sure to get ya every ounce | |
| I' m worth my weight, and gold and all it' s luster | |
| Step up in the place WooHah like I' m Busta | |
| Chorus x4 | |
| AfuRa | |
| Hold up, wait, the sounds kinda knocking | |
| Dreaded they up in the club, let' s get it poppin' | |
| Jolting compositions as if I was a virus | |
| One breathe to raise the dead, those try to ride this | |
| and of course, I take it back to the hood | |
| Afu riggedy Ra, in the hood, raw like a porno is | |
| A wild brother but I dip like a corn fiddle | |
| Trey eight, snubnose, type of flow, get a gun, though | |
| I' m nasty, as we had it with this | |
| I eat rappers, alive, as if my name was Hannibal, kid | |
| Perverted Monk, medicating in the cut | |
| Flying guillotine raps, aiyo, I cut shit up | |
| Masterin' the art, technique dycatomy | |
| Straight up yo, I' m bout to catch a body like Gotti | |
| At home in my zone, who feel the ecstasy | |
| Explicitly, the lyrical telepathy | |
| Chorus x4 |
| zuò qǔ : Phillip, Rovira | |
| " Poisonous taoist!" | |
| " AfuRa!" | |
| " The body of the life force!" | |
| AfuRa | |
| The body of the life force, scientifical street nigga | |
| I walk with a limp, no pimp sign, I' m an urban gorilla | |
| Rough and rugged, plus I keep it realer than realer | |
| Stomp these streets, I' m known as a mic killer | |
| With vintage lines, that vintage rhyme | |
| Black circles around rap camps, I be the lord of the rhyme | |
| Whose the prettiest, baddest, most more, know down | |
| GOD, Blackie Chan, watch me shut it down | |
| Incredible, my credit is credibly credible | |
| Put hoes up in the track, like heavy metal do | |
| Cats act up, I hit ' em with the John Woo | |
| Yo, I chop ' em up, hit ' em up, and rip ' em up | |
| The Lion King' s in town, boy, it' s murder on the sound boy | |
| So line your favorite cottage rappers to sing it | |
| Like Keith Murray my Def Jams, they will get in ya | |
| I slice and dice my competition like a ninja | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| AfuRa | |
| Now let me introduce you, to the man, the myth, the mental | |
| Influential, bicentinial, lyrical spiritual material | |
| Hittin' you like a literal miracle | |
| Settin' fire to the streets, that' s my ritual | |
| Fossils of my rap book, left for anthropoligists | |
| Show ' em how amazing the jazz, I' m blazing the hooks | |
| Heavily heavily, intertwine with the melody | |
| Deadly deadly, kill the tracks with my medly | |
| Give me that mic fool, you only stuntin' and frontin' | |
| Fluffin' and bluffin', and ain' t sayin nothing, stop fronting | |
| The way I shoot the gift, I' m sick with this | |
| I make crowds flip, I' m a hip hop therapist | |
| And you can do the hustle, freak ya body, bounce | |
| But I gotta spit fire, so I' m sure to get ya every ounce | |
| I' m worth my weight, and gold and all it' s luster | |
| Step up in the place WooHah like I' m Busta | |
| Chorus x4 | |
| AfuRa | |
| Hold up, wait, the sounds kinda knocking | |
| Dreaded they up in the club, let' s get it poppin' | |
| Jolting compositions as if I was a virus | |
| One breathe to raise the dead, those try to ride this | |
| and of course, I take it back to the hood | |
| Afu riggedy Ra, in the hood, raw like a porno is | |
| A wild brother but I dip like a corn fiddle | |
| Trey eight, snubnose, type of flow, get a gun, though | |
| I' m nasty, as we had it with this | |
| I eat rappers, alive, as if my name was Hannibal, kid | |
| Perverted Monk, medicating in the cut | |
| Flying guillotine raps, aiyo, I cut shit up | |
| Masterin' the art, technique dycatomy | |
| Straight up yo, I' m bout to catch a body like Gotti | |
| At home in my zone, who feel the ecstasy | |
| Explicitly, the lyrical telepathy | |
| Chorus x4 |
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