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Rock Co.Kane Flow
WeAreDeLaSoul
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
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Up in them five-star tellies, saying two mic rhymes
Be them average MCs of the times
Unlike them, we craft gems
So systematically inclined to pen lines
Without saying the producer's name all over the track
Yeah, I said it, what you need to do is get back
To reading credits, we them medics
Alphabetically stuck on that A-grade shit
Now quit now, before we pour
That sure shot pure rock cocaine flow
From the top of the key for three, villain
Been on in the game as long as he can wheelie a Schwinn
Turn the corner spinning, bust that ass and get up
Dust off the mask, whoever laugh, give him a head up
He got jumped, it pumped his adrenaline
He said it made him tougher than a bump of raw medicine
To write all night long, the hourglass is still slow
Flow from Hellborn to free power like Lilco
And still owe bills, paid dues forever
Slay youths when it comes to who's more cleverer
Used to wore a leather goose V with a fur collar
And charged a fee for loose-leaf, words per dollar
You heard, holler
Broad or dude, we need food
Eat your teams for sure, the streets sure seem rude
For fam like the partridges, pardon him for the mix-up
Battle for your atari cartridges or put your kicks up, it's a stick up
Now put your blicks up
These Riddick Bowe cuts-is fold like penile flicks, and give 'em 20
The danger in his eyes will let you know he's a brawler
Bring your tallest champs like that much taller (taller)
Ten pounds heavier, one step ahead of it
Vocab, stamina, style's all irrelevant
Camps and cliques, units, squad, crews and clans
Even your tongues'll fuck around and lose your mouth
Doom brung that bum, there goes that news van again
Act like you new like Toucan Samanam
He eat rappers like part of a complete breakfast
Their rhymes ain't worth the weight of they cheap necklace
String 'em up, ring 'em up, on your whack junk snack
And get that out your hand, punk, jump and get your dunk smacked
Foul, we all know the rules, bro you slow, you blow
The Super, you fools, his own boss like Hugo
You go lights, camera, action with no make-up
We De La to the death, or at least until we break up
Here's a couple of nice guys who finished first
So nice try, but the prize is ours, disperse
They say the good die young, so I added some
Badass to my flavor to prolong my life over the drum
Everyone cools off from being hot
It's about if you can handle being cold or not
And we was told to hop on no one's dick, by Prince Paul
We stayed original ever since, y'all
First to do a lot of things in the game, but the last to say it
No need to place it on a scale to weigh it
And don't do it for the praise, or to raise the bar
Yet it's raised anyway, so amazing, are
The three L.I. brothers from the other way of thinking
Hey, your lady's winking, I think you need to control that
Or I'll have to hold that
The elements are airborne, I smell the success
(Yo, let's cookie-cut this shit and get the gingerbread, man)
Sacrifice mics and push drugs to these rappers
Puff ponies 'til I turn blue in the lips
Sipping broads like seven-up (so refreshing)
I finger-pop these verses like first dates
The birthdate's September 2-1, 1-9, 6-8
Too old to rhyme, too bad, too late
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