richie cunning - just rap lyrics
[intro: topr]
ayy
it’s your boy l. ron hustler
the jimmy swaggart of swagger
the one and only true savior of the [?]
i’m up here with my man richie c from rec league
we’re calling out all y’all corny, gimmicky–ss rappers
yo if you wear leopard print – you need to shoot yourself
[verse 1: richie cunning]
lord top, rich c, couple of all-stars
f-ck a league, you ain’t even up in the ballpark
and we ain’t got no cars, that’s why we show up
to the party like six deep, drunk in a golf car
i sell genuine raw at all the venues
and tours ‘cos ain’t n-body going into the stores
your style is one big continuous snore, hope you hate my sh-t
‘cos i would hate to think i influenced yours
cross your fingers, pray for the best
‘cos your whole team green like you played for the jets
all day, stay making it fresh. prolly why i
got your pen hand shaking like you taking a test
and that’s just another thing for you to worry about
no more waiting and debating, boy, the jury is out
(y’all guilty) caught running with too many herbs
i spit a sentence, get your whole community served, b-tch
[verse 2: topr]
mic check, your boy top is at it again
fools look around like, “what the f-ck’s the matter with him?”
drenched in sweat like i just got back from the gym
‘cos i fell off the wagon again. i like drugs
fools be like, “topr, you ain’t sh-t”, but i don’t notice
‘cos the oxies are making me itch, time’s up
i black out when i ride the bus, hear voices
plus my crew is violent as f-ck. so i shut
the part of my brain that thinks rhymes up out the back of my
skull in front of my girl like ed norton in fight club
what it do! i’m the reason life sucks for you
tryna snuff my crew, you must be huffing glue
blood, i grew up with some [?] skater kids who were crazy
enough to bury a b-tch in the desert like gator did
my pockets always say like i need [?]
dangerous, on some rick james i’ll [?] your sh-t
[hook: richie cunning, topr]
it ain’t gangster rap, it ain’t hipster rap
it ain’t no positive paint-a-pretty-picture rap
it’s just rap, son of the city in a heart-attack map
we don’t need a corny gimmick to spit it, we just rap
it ain’t emo rap, it ain’t pompous rap
it ain’t no free-your-mind, third-eye conscious rap
it’s just rap, son of the city in a heart-attack map
we don’t need a corny gimmick to spit it, we just rap
[verse 3: richie cunning]
yo, shut your trap, quit yapping and just listen
16s, 808s, i’m a mathematician
got the formula to succeed, easy as 2 + 3
except it’s you minus you plus me
the only time i’m playing sh-t is when i’m up in my house
and i need my company to start shuffling out
matter fact just in case your wack sh-t is contagious
when you spit a rap, baby, you should cover your mouth
need to stay up on your ps and qs, and by that
i mean you should probably quit, b-tch, leave the booth
this obviously ain’t the lead for you
ain’t n-body trying out, little doggy, this is season two (scram)
a tiskit a taskit, if anyone ask
i’m all smash with a full gl-ss, ready for action
this is cl-ssic like 808s and sps
topr, rich c, dirt city, rec league, come on!
[verse 4: topr]
i hit the party with rc (ayy!) and everybody knows us
you and me don’t mix like vodka and rc cola, it taste gross
i’m the bay’s dopest, case closed
y’all g-y like [?] rainbow, so lay low
got a squad of ugly broads i call my army of trolls
bugging the show like it’s “the island of dr moreau”
pervin’ in the park and the [?] serving these cats
i’m trying to ruin your kid’s life in a verse and a half
it’s like a comedy show, and y’all can listen to me laughing at your book
consistently like the joker on a k!lling spree (hahaha)
i treat the track like the middle east when it’s on
i got a one-bedroom shack, but it’s built like the pentagon
military camera booth is army of one
k!lling sh-t like jimmy cliff up in “the harder they come”
sharpen my tongue in a handful of b-ms starting from crumbs
and filling potholes in my law with the tar from my lung
[hook: richie cunning, topr]
it ain’t gangster rap, it ain’t hipster rap
it ain’t no positive paint-a-pretty-picture rap
it’s just rap, son of the city in a heart-attack map
we don’t need a corny gimmick to spit it, we just rap
it ain’t emo rap, it ain’t pompous rap
it ain’t no free-your-mind, third-eye conscious rap
it’s just rap, son of the city in a heart-attack map
we don’t need a corny gimmick to spit it, we just rap
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