Correction Paroles 666 (Three Six Word Stories) par Pharoahe Monch

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Paroles

Eureka, Franklin, D. Roosevelt, Frank, Lynn
Collins, Ferguson, Rick, James, Brown, Ferguson
Son, come on son, Th1rt3en, I'm on one
Two-three-four-five Jacksons in action
My eyes are stained glass, look through, see the labor pains
When my brain goes into contractions
Crack pipes, Wesley Snipes all over the city like stop signs
Fall back, pull out the act right
While they catfight I rap like parking parallel
With 18 wheels in a snowstorm, jackknife
Too black, too strong, exactly, that type
Could somebody please tell Father Time to kiss my ass, pause, get it?
Then add that loss to his resume because he is no longer undefeated
Th1rt3en, I am the best that ever did it
When you travel back through time you will lose 24 hours for every hour you remain in the past committed
I will complete a perfect final four bracket
Water the roses on your grave
And then criticize that weak sh*t you are about to say
Before you fix your mouth to spit it
I bet you I am the one like Mookie
But not Mookie Betts or Spike Lee in the movies
I move the crowd like I have Tourette's in the movies
I hate the old people
sl*t, whore, f**k it, I voted for Trump
Pump shotgun, bomb, fire, everybody run
DMC, Houdini with the treacherous
Three-stripe Adidas, fat gold chain necklace
Master of the guillotine, put their heads on a chopping block
Lucifer, killing machine, executioner
Get 'em and then I'ma put 'em in the middle of a firing squad
Load and lock, pop, pop, pop
Watch me waterboard 'em, peel their nails back, torture them
Cigarettes on the eyelids scorching them, to the pupil to the iris to the retina
Viruses silencing them like they're silence us except I'm more violent
f**k 'em, I mute their music when they're unplugged
Throwing up a middle finger to the future of these young thugs
The Game of Thrones going back to Hell again
Cracked skeleton bones, spawn black melanin
My attitude free radical
Islam wrap cellophane around the mouths of these f**kboys, I keep telling 'em
Uh, but they ain't tryin' to hear me though
The word'll get around in the hood like venereal
Merry go's, aerial views of drug dealer burials
Crackhead, flat-screen TVs, and cheap stereos
Swing, go ahead, take a swing (Go ahead)
You a thug, you actin' like you wanna swing on me (Go ahead)
But hesitant 'cause you don't know if got that thing on me
And by thing I mean 29 books of rhymes, words are bullets
Pages are the clips that hold unlimited ammunition
I just committed the crime
The scene is not fictitious clips
Or quick depictions of cops taking pics of ice picks sticking out of the victims
But a detective taking notes
On a deceased Kellogg's, General Mills, Quaker Oats
And in the bathroom scripted with love as he got nearer
Three six-word stories written with blood on the mirror
I breathe like oxygen is expensive
Don't be offended, I am defensive
I love you, take care, intensive
I love you, take care, intensive

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