lirik lagu conflix - character assassins pt. 1
reain: (a.k.a whashisface)
i’m like jet li in the booth; i’m the one
don’t care if you’re 5,4,3 or the 2
we can go one to one, i’ll pay you no credit
you ain’t saying sh-t like radio edits
you see a stage and you get quite frightened
i’ll rip any mic, give me a mike tyson
i blow your mind cause you thought reain is the terrorist
with the rucksack plotting on your thought-train
‘llow air force, i bust moon boots
bite one of my punchlines and get a black and blue tooth
you’d be better biting chrome, not cordless
i got a wireless hands-free kit microphone
check the way i’m rhyming tough, trust i’m gonna bust
coming soon like inside my thigh just tightened up
representing west, get prepared
this is just the beginning, you won’t see west end even in leicester square
grip your four five, i don’t need a nine
bowl into a gun fight and shoot opponents with my piece of mind
punchlines are -ssaulting the tune
give djs my cuts; pour salt in the wounds
all these weak emcees, i’m daring them
i ain’t scared of ’em, cause they handle beef like a vegetarian
and i’m able to slew you like i’m cain
you best run, blood, like the fluid in your veins
conflix:
never been bright or quick
despite this, i’ve been getting respect for the rhymes i spit
rhymers quit and get outshined on tracks
sever [their?] blind by ‘flix, when i channel the sun’s rays within the pen that i’m writing with
benny’s the nicest kid, try to diss
and i’ll rip and break every single bone in your neck as you try to spit
you better hide and sh-t
cause behind my bars you can pick any cell you like and spend the rest of your life in it
step to my rep, you’ll find no better guy that is wrecking mics, and a threat [defined and setting?] a sentence right
cause i’m so offensive my text and lines are both in a web design to entrap any foe that attempts to bite
i’m a threat with a weapon
i don’t scare and don’t care whatever you reckon
20 percent of you emcees have got a future set in the present
and the rest are just a bunch of old-school losers that’ll never be legends
under the [??] my lungs’ll contort and screw you up in my next gasp
you wanna box, so let’s spar but you’ll suffer a death harsh
cause i’ll skin you alive, dump your corpse and use your skull as my headguard
i’m not the thuggy type, i’m a funny guy
but i’m like nothing nice, cause i’d love the sight of your stomach sliced
with a ton of rhymes i’m so heavy, it’s kinda hard not to fall to the planet earth and come out the other side
rappers slayed when i gash their face with the blackest blade
stained and dabbed in the blood of their fami-lay
it’s a fact i’m great – i’ve been on more journeys than sindbad, and fought more monsters than ray harryhausen can animate
your punches i make miss, ’cause every blow thrown at me, i’m seeing it as slow as neo does in the matrix
so understand that i’m underrated
but understand that i’m understated; that one day i’ll be london’s greatest!
psiklone (rhyme asylum) :
yo it’s the twisted rapper, forming tornadoes out of liquid matter
slash your wrists with daggers putting knives inside your christmas crackers
spit with a thunderous presence
so fast i can count every grain of sand in the world in under a second
the mystical poltergeist, in open mics predicting thoughts
can see in the future ’cause both my eyes are crystal b-lls
with twisted thoughts i dive off the eiffel tower
at 90 miles per hour catch myself an inch before i hit the floor
celebrate my death day as a special occasion
come to terms with it like text books and pencil erasers
my brain’s top secret chemical agents, means that i
multiply i beat calculators by million decimal places
sick cars get hot wired; hook jump leads up to my tongue
and unleash the voltage to kick start a dodge viper
after a verse is rinsed my raw rhymes rejuvenate
with imagery that can make someone born blind hallucinate
manage:
it’s character -ss-ssins drowning bres in a shallow bath
i spit hard and decorate your face with battle scars
put down the mic, or i’ll come running with a tackle charge
you’re so wack, when you spit even your shadow laughs
i make bars to starve you off your last breath
move in your yard and have you sleeping on a park bench
i’m one to watch for, even in past tense
pick up a car wrench and leave your face with a large dent
you got no sense, knocking on death’s door
claim you’re on top of the game – you’re coming off like a sket’s draws
i settle scores with metal swords to your head’s core
use daggers and knives, strike and leave your neck torn
start a war, i’ll have you begging when it gets raw
you’ll need an armored vehicle to get you through your next tour
i’ll spit at night and turn the sky to a red dawn
cause i see my life through the eye of a [vex storm?]
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