justin ray – competitive rap lyrics
281, 713, 832, 409
that’s all i’m ever gonna be until i’m six feet in the grave
addicted to conversations that never make you richer
all glued to their phones, can’t see the bigger picture
the heir apparent, hair trigger twitcher
spray scripture you can’t see on the gram or anybody twitter
brown liquor that’s insulted by a mixer
i’ll be scratched up and faded, debate if i ever kissed your sister
the underrated mister destroy stereo types
0-4 i probably got your uncle’s stereo hyped
this is jaws of life meets nas is like keeps all the sight
peak awesome type – it’s something sl!cker
drum kicker rib sticker – meat b-lls and rice
stack plates like restaurant workers and weightlifters
all you bad contract rappers needing a trade
think you old politicians, just speak and get paid
y’all weak and afraid, knowing you peaked when you played
future bleak and your game it ain’t speaking the same
i’m deleting your fame, because i’m keeping the flame
of every heat seeking missile preacher speaking of pain
humble every mumble pill popper gleaking the same
repet-tive bull sh-t like lauri markkanen name
got the strange arc of an archangel deranged
i park three sixes all black matte leather range
forever strange like tech nine i always exchanged
respect with the intellectuals that check in the game
i’m tony stark on a yacht with a handle of beam
you john starks with the shot in the presence of dreams
i’m a pitcher sprinting out of the pen throwing triple digits
mixed with the lost pen of th0r-au, i’m on fire
devil in the kitchen mixing up a new edition
bobby brown couldn’t snort this blow, yo retire
this is trump with the nuclear codes, doomsday
dump truck any dude who oppose, i sooth-say
yo, he been galsworthy with bars it’s who day
green over everything was the cause of they decay
my brainwaves hiroshima, my breath is emphysema
i float around the planet like the ghost of caesar
i’m the new word god ‘cause i choked the preacher
broke the speakers, then i went and poked your teacher
i’m not cnn but i do not see an end
to the n-z-sm bend that we have undergone
it’s obvious again, it does not have a defense
the basquiat of pens loved after i’m gone
dimes to knicks, know that my thoughts are an artform
keeping heads on point, i play the unicorn
porzingis in the form of a different uniform
cocaine rap got me feeling like terrence th-rn’
push a b-tton never me – no punches or ghosts
it’s like fighting ali or jack johnson of flows
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