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Strangeulation III |
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(Verse 1: Wrekonize) |
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Wrapped in XLR cables |
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Up from my whiskers, down to my ****in' kicks |
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Wreck-O was echoed in Gordon Geckos, you suckin' di*k |
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Nobody be askin' me for secrets, I ain't chuckin' tips |
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I'd rather be bumpin' hips on that ratchet with muffin **** |
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Tore up the limits from Britain visions would rock their lives |
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Inside a prison where giddy ******* don't jock the rhyme |
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Born in precision and rhythm spittin' could swat a fly |
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For them to just kick a single shillings from Spotify |
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Bye, Bye killers, on a high five business |
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Gonna ride by the sickest in your high ride to the hitlist |
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If we ain't spoke in ages then miss me with broken favors |
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You Miley Cyrus to majors, you twerkin' on swollen razors (run now) |
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Don't make me come to dinner, nail your tongue down |
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And have you plead your case to us in Strangeland at sundown |
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Be careful of the biz cause everything has got a price attached |
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Wake up with a horse head in your bed and next your life is snatched |
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(Verse 2: Bernz) |
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Tank full of petrol, bank full of pesos |
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Pool on my tour bus, bonus on a payroll |
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Feel like I be killin' it, famous on the internet |
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Really I'm just wingin' it, cookin' sh*t on my kitchenette |
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Life so good right now, I need to celebrate! |
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Bout to sell a stadium out and turn it into rave! |
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Look at how the industry norm has started lookin' Strange |
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All my brothers riding the storm while they just ride the wave |
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Caviar wishes, bi*ches for my bi*ches |
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Black shades and hoodies and spots and white linens |
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Feel like Sam Kinison, preachin' to the citizens |
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Screamin' at the saints, "You ain't ever gonna get rid of us!" |
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Guessin' I just cleaned my plate so now I'm gettin' cake |
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Speedin' down the interstate, yellin' "Get out the ****in' way" |
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We plant flags in the ground because we here to stand |
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I bring my whole hood out and have my own parade |
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(Verse 3: Kutt Calhoun) (Black Gold!) |
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I purposely wrote this verse just to murder, dismember, defecate |
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Disassemble the limbs of a ni**a who try and separate |
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Artistry from nonfiction, I'm sent with a conviction |
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To sentence you pawns givin' opinions on my addiction |
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"There he goes, speakin' bout how he merk a beat" |
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"Smellin' himself, why else would he flaunt about it so verbally?" |
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Dance around me like I was a paraplegic |
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In a do-si-do competition, lookin' pissed like I never heard of feet |
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"Yadda, yadda", a whole lotta yappin' about my rappin' |
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When I'm the captain of crunchin' you ni**as' milky dreams |
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I'm the comparison of Pac face staring in your face |
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Mock razor blades, Kutt leave you crispy clean |
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Don't ask Tech, ask me if it's questions |
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Guarantee that he tell you that I'm the best and I'm destined |
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To find a snake and a bat, helpin' Kansas City's progression |
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Hopin' I hurt the feelings of whoever second guessed it cause |
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Everybody talkin', I'mma make you ni**as hear me |
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Mind control flow, now, listen till your ears bleed |
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(Verse 4: Ubiquitous) |
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Spit it sicker than these sycophants, keep your di*k up in your pants |
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You were blunted on the block, me, I had some different plans |
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I'm trying to get to France, sniffing grams, hit a branch |
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Independent Powerhouse, vibin' out, wit' the fam |
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Waking up in different cities every night, hittin' grants |
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Stay prepared for this, I'm bearing witness to the sin of man |
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Stripper dance with cinnamon, clubbin' with my gentlemen |
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Drink away the night's events, nothing worth remembering |
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Squad'll run up in this bi*ch, mobbin' like some immigrants |
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Jack you for your paper stack, rob you of your innocence |
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Taping off the scene of crimes, swabbing for my fingerprints |
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Thought about my life, you thought the same and couldn't think of sh*t |
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Ha! This type of fire don't extinguish |
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Now write about some bigger sh*t, you striking out, swing and miss |
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Ring around the Rosie, homie, pocket full of pain |
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Keep a lock up on my lane and triple optic in my brain, look |
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|
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(Ringing) |
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Ubiquitous: "Yeah, what up?" |
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N9ne: "Ubi?" |
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Ubiquitous: "What's going on man?" |
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N9ne: "Hold on...Travis is calling me, hold up." |
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N9ne: "What up, Trav?" |
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Travis: "What up man, I'm outside right now." |
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N9ne: "Okay, here I come." |
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Travis: "Alright." |
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N9ne: "Peace. Ubi! You got the bi*ches number from...So and so?" |
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Ubi: "From what? What, which bi*ch?" |
| [03:30.72] |
N9ne: "That redheaded bi*ch from...dadadadada." |
| [03:32.89] |
Ubi: "Oh, yeah yeah yeah. Want me to text it to you?" |
| [03:35.16] |
N9ne: "Yeah text it to me right now. Love." |
| [03:37.39] |
Ubi: "Aight peace." |