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Time Stamp (3rd party) Song# 0.03 Published on Dec 13, 2016
New 2016 - Remastered - 432 Hz - Lossless - Flac - 1.411 kBit/s - CDQ - HD - High Quality - Lyrics - Hip-Hop
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDnlSH5agKw
My attitude is to watch and observe the magnitude
Is it hostile? What is the next possible move?
Wait until the conditions improve
Listen to me, dude
Don't let it affect your morale, your mission, or your mood
Canibus, true lyricist, Mr. Ubiquitous
Getting busy for Big Pun and his little one Christopher
Little Christopher, big brother Bis take you to the cinema
To show you how hardbody Godzilla was, once upon a time
Top hip-hop brass, supreme hot beam that ass
John Deere in the headlights, leave him in the grass
First pass, low-altitude, high-density mass
See how my symphony's intensity lasts
Hold your breath, cousin
Ignite the gas, spit it all out fast
Run all night to see if we could outlast
They say correlation is not causation
But rather a revelation, happenstance of a nebulous nature
*Ya tu sabe,* I like to cha-cha in Abu Dhabi
With a bad Spanish mommy and Formula One Ferraris
With my canine posse eating saltfish and agi
Mad-dog with the hobbies standing in line at Hobby Lobby
Floridians' see scorpion alligator organism
Don't even make no sense talking to them
Monaco muscles' double headed Doberman no muzzle
Bludgeon your face with eight dozen dominoes in a duffle
Grab you by the underarms like I wanna snuggle
Then treat you like Hip Hop when it doesn't love you
Sour cherries I spit garlic, a street convict makin' a omelet
Young Pun, Imma make you a promise
I stand with you. I stand with G Rap Giacanna
To Rep Hip Hop Thomas, in your father's honor
Rest in peace Ruk, hold it down Loch Ness Monster
Brooklyn Dodgers, every Brooklyn bomber on the roster
Say what you say, just give me that shit from RTJ
Watch me put a mix out every day
From Newark to Hacker Sac-sack Town
Long Island area and back down
It's young Chris and Rip the Jacker now, gimme love
[Verse 2: Chris Rivers to be transcribed]
It's the con of cons
comic-con type of pajamas on
A lot of bombs dropped from
bombs bionic graph automaton,
Wiring infused with ivory, I'll scale down your trees
My skin rips, turn to loose leaf--blood is fire ink
I'm made of this
Bank account with steady statement lists
So statements paved the pay for payments pace this state of bliss
Name is Chris: son of rap gods and amazon
I remember trying to flip the green without a salad tong
This ain't that killer shit; this that vigilant militant instrument
Niggas cinnamon sweeter than drizzled iniments
Take your ligaments, break you down like you are some insulin
It's been written Mayans predicted this whole predicament
Doomsday apocalyptic, with gaudy bitches
Esophagus with
Lots of lipstick, they want my prime, I'm optimistic
Not a mystic, this real-deal, holy-feel
Banana clips in every bar
Spitting 'til your dome is peeled
Rivers
[Hook sample: "Get on the mic, get on the mic..." x15]
[Verse 3: G Rap to be transcribed]
K.G.R, Bis, Chris Rivers
Niggas piss rivers
New York City slick niggas that click triggers
My shit hit ya with tores ligaments, rip livers
Niggas bodies wiggle like big strippers
My young hitters draw bligers like they was stick figures
Shit bricks in your pants, missing your kitty litter
From that life to day and night, with the brick flippers
Made it clear, it's 1080p--I'm a crisp picture
slit your throat, send your bitch witch ya
Chasing my notes until I croak, nigga, big figures
Lead-action got a fetish for the letter-stacking
I'm at your cabbage under the sweater jacket
I wear the bastard, and dash past him, with metal blastin
I'm hand-crackin, I lay him flat in a bed of passion
Catch him lackin before he get to the pedal-mashin
Steppin to me, I let niggas speak to the double-actions
No shells missin, I'm Mel Gibson, forever berreta blasting
I'm scale whippin' in Hell's kitchen for cheddar stackin
New 2016 - Remastered - 432 Hz - Lossless - Flac - 1.411 kBit/s - CDQ - HD - High Quality - Lyrics - Hip-Hop
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDnlSH5agKw
My attitude is to watch and observe the magnitude
Is it hostile? What is the next possible move?
Wait until the conditions improve
Listen to me, dude
Don't let it affect your morale, your mission, or your mood
Canibus, true lyricist, Mr. Ubiquitous
Getting busy for Big Pun and his little one Christopher
Little Christopher, big brother Bis take you to the cinema
To show you how hardbody Godzilla was, once upon a time
Top hip-hop brass, supreme hot beam that ass
John Deere in the headlights, leave him in the grass
First pass, low-altitude, high-density mass
See how my symphony's intensity lasts
Hold your breath, cousin
Ignite the gas, spit it all out fast
Run all night to see if we could outlast
They say correlation is not causation
But rather a revelation, happenstance of a nebulous nature
*Ya tu sabe,* I like to cha-cha in Abu Dhabi
With a bad Spanish mommy and Formula One Ferraris
With my canine posse eating saltfish and agi
Mad-dog with the hobbies standing in line at Hobby Lobby
Floridians' see scorpion alligator organism
Don't even make no sense talking to them
Monaco muscles' double headed Doberman no muzzle
Bludgeon your face with eight dozen dominoes in a duffle
Grab you by the underarms like I wanna snuggle
Then treat you like Hip Hop when it doesn't love you
Sour cherries I spit garlic, a street convict makin' a omelet
Young Pun, Imma make you a promise
I stand with you. I stand with G Rap Giacanna
To Rep Hip Hop Thomas, in your father's honor
Rest in peace Ruk, hold it down Loch Ness Monster
Brooklyn Dodgers, every Brooklyn bomber on the roster
Say what you say, just give me that shit from RTJ
Watch me put a mix out every day
From Newark to Hacker Sac-sack Town
Long Island area and back down
It's young Chris and Rip the Jacker now, gimme love
[Verse 2: Chris Rivers to be transcribed]
It's the con of cons
comic-con type of pajamas on
A lot of bombs dropped from
bombs bionic graph automaton,
Wiring infused with ivory, I'll scale down your trees
My skin rips, turn to loose leaf--blood is fire ink
I'm made of this
Bank account with steady statement lists
So statements paved the pay for payments pace this state of bliss
Name is Chris: son of rap gods and amazon
I remember trying to flip the green without a salad tong
This ain't that killer shit; this that vigilant militant instrument
Niggas cinnamon sweeter than drizzled iniments
Take your ligaments, break you down like you are some insulin
It's been written Mayans predicted this whole predicament
Doomsday apocalyptic, with gaudy bitches
Esophagus with
Lots of lipstick, they want my prime, I'm optimistic
Not a mystic, this real-deal, holy-feel
Banana clips in every bar
Spitting 'til your dome is peeled
Rivers
[Hook sample: "Get on the mic, get on the mic..." x15]
[Verse 3: G Rap to be transcribed]
K.G.R, Bis, Chris Rivers
Niggas piss rivers
New York City slick niggas that click triggers
My shit hit ya with tores ligaments, rip livers
Niggas bodies wiggle like big strippers
My young hitters draw bligers like they was stick figures
Shit bricks in your pants, missing your kitty litter
From that life to day and night, with the brick flippers
Made it clear, it's 1080p--I'm a crisp picture
slit your throat, send your bitch witch ya
Chasing my notes until I croak, nigga, big figures
Lead-action got a fetish for the letter-stacking
I'm at your cabbage under the sweater jacket
I wear the bastard, and dash past him, with metal blastin
I'm hand-crackin, I lay him flat in a bed of passion
Catch him lackin before he get to the pedal-mashin
Steppin to me, I let niggas speak to the double-actions
No shells missin, I'm Mel Gibson, forever berreta blasting
I'm scale whippin' in Hell's kitchen for cheddar stackin
