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big k r i t - indie meets mainstream cypher lyrics

[big k.r.i.t.:]
m.i crooked slay that, been killin’ beats since adapt
yeah me and rhymes go way back, way back
time machine flow when i was sw-ngin’ and ridin’
if you ain’t reppin’ for your people then you’re
shuckin’ and jivin’
tap dancin’ and slidin’ to beat that you can’t
comprehend
how dare you speak on where i’m from if you ain’t never
been
fried kool-aid who made, never ate that in fact
grandma was chefin’ for real, made meals off love and
scr-ps
thank god for my country folk and family
instead of a metaphor i’d rather take it by james
anderson
damaging how they televised basketball wives and not
tornadoes in the south and how we lost lives
still rebuildin’, pray for the children that have no
hero
only the villains that tell them get money
sleep when you die i find it funny
because when you rest in peace don’t mean fast asleep
in slumber
thank god and stay humble

[tech n9ne:]
real rock rap and not to xerox, weird not
enough to make you fear a lot from here, watch
i ran scrimmage and i fought to the d-mn finish
and i popped eyes open without eating me canned spinach
my fans in it constantly tellin’ me i can win it
if i stand grimace damagin’ man every d-mn minute
i blend then expands quick it scrams wicked rhyme
grand spittage, h.a.m. with it, fam dig it’s n9ne
chea – hard to see me like the background
your rap styles comin’ softer than a cat’s meow
red laces, big-booted like i’m iraq bound
that frown will get you ate by my cannibal from sac
town
triple axe pal, pat down, gat down, bat down, blackout
with a fat smile i might react foul, so don’t make this
cat growl
i caught everybody when i spazzed wow, who do i catch
now

[machine gun kelly:]
cleveland what up
yeah, kells, uh cobain’s back
i smell like teen spirit man, cobain’s back
i got these teens screamin’ like cobain’s back
you try me and i’ll make you a legend like cobain’s
strap – blaat
they say i’m wastin’ my time where the watch at how he
got that
they say it wasn’t my time where the watch at, now
watch that
speed of my syllables rhymes, better clock that
stop that, bad boy gave me the contract and i dot that
now who the heck is this, with his pants red as 666
all up in your girlfriend’s twitpics
that eastside boy up out the 216
that’s makin’ these other rappers get melo like the
knicks, eh
get you spitters huck to finished, and when ya’ll win
the game and the cypher was a scrimmage
so everybody gossipin’ tell a friend that i’m pitchin’
how this white boy just bodied black entertainment
television, lace up

[kendrick lamar:]
pushin’ a hoopty b-mpin’ the fugees
my life is a scary movie, your life is a male groupie
kendrick lamar broke the handle with 22 uzi’s
stuffed it in my mouth and cack, cack, cack killed the
rappers that knew me
compton’s most wanted i live my life in a dungeon
came out of a dragon i can probably touch the sun with
my bare hands, what are your plans to win a grammy,
sweet taste of victory like oprah’s punany
don’t judge me that’s just some irony, trust me i like
to laugh and get lucky
my sense of humor is rumored to be a gemini’s company
come with me
in the planet rock and i plan to rock in a plantation
chasin’ many legends that made it
face it you will never be pac-10 even when the planet
stop
i’m 2012 on a 12-inch, aimin’ straight at your pelvis
elvis would come back as a black if you was hot
you’re just a mascot on a kim kardashian -ss-shot

[b.o.b:]
full-blooded pedigree, prize fighter special breed
my flow, they say it got special needs
i’m talking ritalin, maybe even adderall
four bars from me would probably kill your whole
catalog
sixteen would make deborah lee cut the channel off
thirty-two would make paul bunyan take the flannel off
sixty-four would make your mama want sixty more
i eat haters, check the crumbs on my kitchen floor
they say my music’s pop, i call it buyin’ cribs for my
mama shakin’ hands with obama
and if you don’t believe me go online and check the pic
and if you check my flip cam you’ll see your sister in
a flick
i’m perfect from the field it’s like i can’t miss
i’m on a rant like durant no pick no -ssist
ya’ll trippin’ on tip, get off my man neck
i’m just saying martha stewart left prison in a jet

- big k r i t lyrics

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