a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

3-15 – 6th grade lyrics


6th grade

1st verse:
i sn-tched a pen, grabbed my notebook;
f-ck this homework, -it can wait./
this new idea buggin’ me -won’t stop for satan’s sake./
gimme a big enough canvas and brush so i can paint./
then splatter like spatter; i’m after a pic-sso and van gogh fate./
i strangulate; tech doin’ tongue twisters,/
is like me simply spittin sickly sixteens after swishers./
i’m off the richter./
i’m far from stigma -i’m enigma./
common symptom: my flawless rhythm causes a lot of hippin’,/
and hoppin’ like scottie pippen./
i’m grindin’ but off the rails;/
tony hawk oughta make me an icon
cause this rappin’ surely won’t and i will fail./
i’m at sea with fishy mcs; choruses got me hooked when i’m blue and wail./
show ya what a rubik’s cube flow entails./
i’ve made a habit of rapid, rabid rappin’;/
n0body’s clappin’; my tactic’s only practice ’til i attack the m-sses./
feelin’ bouncy; lousy bands make her dance -ridonculous -sses- beyond the fastest,/
asian with a pocket protector and gl-sses./

i think it’s time i get out my sh-ll; a hermit’s on the bottom of the totem pole./
never would be notable if i’m not some quotable,/
spitta with some sociable sk!lls -lookin’ approachable./
anxiety gets me emotional,/

and yet, i manage to get around the block spittin sixteens and hittin’ pet-tes./
get ’em in sheets; givin’ ’em t-tties a squeeze./
freak ’em and leave; don’t call — i play the game and repeat./
i’ve covered all bases; it’s why im’a beat,/
all the ones thinkin’ they runnin’ the game./
i’ll make fun of a lame; i turn a nun to a babe./
of course, i’m simply one of the same,/
angels from above and the flame./
dang, must be how i come and then came./ (haha.)

i love how i began writing at twelve and got to where at without so much as a decent crowd,/
but people peep me now./
my duty’s to make sure you don’t leave with doubt -so hear me out./
oh, you not feelin’ me?
well, i am; scream and shout./

i love this new style that i’m schemin’ wit’./
ever since i was teamin’ wit’ knu and introduced g to fif,/
it’s indeed a pith./
so if i need a hit after i drink a fifth and heed to split,/
it’s cause i’m ’bout to beat a beat and leave it st-tched./

had i known that i would come to rap with ease,/
i’d’a start sooner with strategies,/
internals and slant rhymes
i never would’a rapped with these,/
other local so-called mcs./
they don’t worry ’bout their rappin -just the fashion from their st–z,/

but i’m not like the rest that’s spammin’ up ya inbox./
i quit that sh-t some time ago, and f-ckin’ thin sl-ts bored of f-ckin’ thin c-cks./
that’s why ’em clackamas babes prefer one javier over ten jocks./
i’m different from how another rapper in portland talks./
maybe it’s the way i watch my grammar like a n-z- holding ten clocks./
either way, i love spittin’ hard and gettin’ laid like cement blocks…/

(you might think i’m… ah, f-ck…)

i had to get that tag outta the way; now that i have, i can keep rippin’,/
or maybe let the beat ride out for you f-cks that keep thinkin’,/
that i’ll say anything that means somethin’, then cease spittin’,/
but i keep trippin’; every rapper in portland thinks that he’s sittin’,/
on some throne, bad to the bone -who is he kiddin’?/