Song | Poisonous Taoist |
Artist | Afu-Ra |
Album | State Of The Arts |
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] |
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 |