Correction Paroles Tradition par Fashawn

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Paroles

Right now I could be high on anything
You wouldn’t realize ‘cause you hide behind pills and lean
To anaesthetize and disguise your feelings see
Take your time to advise esthetic dentistry
‘Cause you ‘gon need to clarify whether you’ll get grilled and fried
Or finally grit your teeth, I’m in the vicinity
Energy intensifies tremendously, demented fiends to chemistry
Tremble and surrender by the scent of me
I am endlessly revving my electric engine
Speed extends with every line I am a**embling
And you think that by coincidence I would stretch this line so lengthily
But in hindsight you see – my mind is a Tesla limousine (Skrr)
This is BigSur, check your screen
Like Disney Pixar, what you see depends on me
Because these pictures I make ‘em read my lips first
To a**ure what I spit works, then I script the scene
A**isted by the Grizzly City Chief, while it seems
All you do is surf the internet for gifs and memes
See if I was Rip Curl, I wouldn’t push a tee
Though I agree – being this dope is brickwork
Back when all I wanted was to get heard
But to strike the right note, I couldn’t hold a key (oooh)
Now lyrically, I am six foot seven inches deep
You’re the height of Peter Dinklage tryin’ to hit my knees
No killing time when it’s killing time (‘tis the season)
No killing time when it’s killing time (‘tis the reason)
No killing time when it’s killing time (‘tis the season)
No killing time when it’s killing time (it’s tradition)
No killing time when it’s killing time (‘tis the season)
No killing time when it’s killing time (‘tis the reason)
No killing time when it’s killing time (‘tis the season)
No killing time when it’s killing time

Spit like a Mini Mack, tongue go brrraaat
Pen like Cinemaxx, rap game gimme that (gimme that sh*t n***a)
I’m throwing shots out, I’m throwing Henny back
I got a bigger stack, bigger than Guerilla Black
I don’t do trap beats, this a track meet
I brought wrap cleats, far from an athlete
I’m from the backstreets, Kingpin to all the crack fiends
I got flat feet, still I curve b*t*hes
Spit fire, burn bridges
Cremate, I urn n***as
Take the iron bird and I earn figures
Throwing shade in my lighthouse
I ain’t even concerned with it
Presidential but the term different
Move slow I ain’t syrup sipping
Serving chicken, Vitamin D
Leave that bird on the curb sitting
Y’all wonder what the word’s worth
More millions that Merv Griffin
I hurt feelings, in the act of the turf-peeling
Eat MCs, I’m Big Lurch
Save the rest for the earth-digger, was a purse snatcher
Shawn Michael, Triple H – I leave you in a hearse after
I dirt-nap ya
Drama cla** you’re the worst actor, n***a
That’s on Ala**ane, you need a Oscar
Pop like Redenbacher, toting the chopper (Boom Boom Boom!)
I carry on tradition and take my commission
This is alchemy mixed with Martin and Malcom vision
Mighty-morphing Fash, I done made it off the ave
I dip the flow in Kerosine and got it towards the ash
Floyd Mayweather the way I got up off the corner fast
I learned currency is more than cash
My autograph, more than a stack
The more that I yap, the audience clap
For this audio crack, I’m god in the flesh
Far from Father Allah, just call me the F
Or Armstrong, my n***a I get all of you stretched
B*t*h
[Hook]

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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.