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Absolem
Roc Marciano
,
DJ Muggs
Popularity ยท Low
+
๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
Yeah, nigga
Wait, nigga, you supposed to feel it
Loaded cannon at you and your companion
That'll open your Mark Buchanan just like a cannon
Get smoked when you standing, left and abandoned, it's standard
And we can't come to an understanding, prepare for the landing
Your head roll, pockets swole, route crammed in
Carve your dome up, jack-o-lantern
In jacques and jammers, in back of Phantoms
Bags of hammers and scanners, hand 'em this pamphlets
Fiends hit the samplers, took the advances
Tip the dancers, white hoes, niggas and Spaniards
All dig how I be spitting that cancer
Roar like a panther, flow sharper than reindeer antlers
Nigga, we hustle, everyday take chances
The smoothest niggas get it, rolling in the Plymouth
Your flow's timid, my dough's risen over the limit
Smoking infinite, the most inventive, explosive lyrics
I was always prone to kill it, nigga, you supposed to feel it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
I was always prone to kill it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
Now feel it, kill it
I was always prone to kill it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
Now feel it
I was always prone to kill it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
Now feel it, uh, kill it
I was always prone to kill it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
I palm a pen in the den, then outsmart a thin harlequin
March in the name, spray collagen
Suede moccasins, 10K, Veda politics
Chopsticks burn toxic, pay the pharmacist
Write that hard Spartacus shit, leave your arm undid
Recline like The Mack in a barber's chair
Cut a margarine square, then let the M1 flare out the moncler
As far as nuts, got a bronze pair, keep the guns in there
You dumbin' out, gun in the mouth, you duck, you crouch
You swing a cow, leave you rough scout, your team's rubbed out
Proceed about, live in the dream house
The 40 inch flatscreen in the meanwhile
Snatch your queen up like a rebound
The three Q-T's, green and brown
Squeeze rounds and flee the town, pass the cheebo 'round
'Til you senile, the Cris' six-speed growl like animals in the wild
Cash cow, sniff the stacks out like a basset hound
Pull a S-Class out, got class, not a class clown
Clap the pound to put the crack in your smile
Rap profound inside a laugh in the cloud
Chains wrapped around a lavish style, classical sound
Light a Black & Mild, like the cats down south
Racks in the jeans, gas on the rack mount
I crack a dragon stout and dish the packs out
Smoking infinite, the most inventive, explosive lyrics
I was always prone to kill it, nigga, you supposed to feel it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
I was always prone to kill it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
Now feel it, kill it
I was always prone to kill it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
Now feel it, uh, kill it
I was always prone to kill it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
Now feel it, uh, kill it
I was always prone to kill it
Nigga, you supposed to feel it
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