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lirik lagu david trap - the four man cypher

every lyric i spit makes you wanna go back and revisit the lyrics you writ, dribbling, scribble ‘em out, punks, who you f-cking with?
don’t threaten nor lecture me, sh-ts about to get extra messy and heavy
the four man cypher, let me decipher it, side effects, can’t decide if it’s…a compet-tion. whether it is or it isn’t – i bet its hit all of our compet-tive sides – to do better than the next and previous guy. because that is what rap is about. but it’s all love here
use to have writers block. now this is writer’s block. producers as the neighbourhood watch. we don’t do drive-bys, we do walk ups as the neighbours watch
me, and these three, we’re gonna k!ll sh-t and this is the best spot to do it
wondering who will be my first protégé, d.trap isn’t my given name, its sobriquet, got sold a tube lubricant by a group of g-ys, bouquet, my stability is precarious, various parents so wary as to where i am
so your parents are probably wondering what the f-ck you are watching and i’m just like, “f-ck ‘em”. because i’ve got this, and seven other middle fingers. so ya’ll can suck ’em
and looking at you compared to us, you must have a license to suck, ‘cause…we can lean on you, bruv. like a f-cking crutch
i, chaynes and our iron chains have came to change the game, derail the train, impregnate the game again
with nine years of this rap sh-t under my belt still people wonder how i’m about, how these words come from outta my mouth, 12 hours of my day were spent writing bars down. just tryn’a…master my craft, now i’m the martial of arts, marshall of art
this is 2016 b-tch, the year of no slacking. ball grabbing, just pure rapping
i’m rocky marciano with the gloves, phil collins on the drums, still got madeleine mccann stuffed in my candy van, heading to candy land or so she thinks, not into these social things, it f-cking stinks
i had almost quit this rap sh-t. but then i remember the people who tell me i can’t do it
f-ggots, to show you all i’m a rap addict, i’m back at it, ready for another stab, another crack at it
to us you’re just a counterfeit. we talk the truth, here with my army, you’re rapping about armani, but chaynes has already said, “you can’t even buy the belt of it”
‘bout to go in on it. better believe it
my homies are telling me to leave it, but, i roll like paraplegic, so, haters, you better shut your mouths or i’ll get some sellotape to seal it
i’m not getting any younger, always going up with age like i’m on a ramp-age, get it? rampage?
i don’t care whether you’re queen latifah slash wiz khalifa or rita ora, so, b-tch, why you queefing at me for? why would you be a dork and start beef for? i eat my meat raw with a folk. beat my meat ‘til its sore. get close to nothing but wh0r-s, so close i say, “oh, sh-t, she’s got a face like a horse.”, so you f-cking wh0r-s better take a step back before i break your nose when i close the door
i said that slowly so you could capture that bar. ha. just thinking of feminists makes me laugh, thinking of feminists angry makes me hard
shouldn’t be offended by this sh-t, but f-ck it, if the shoe fits…
“women can fake an -rg-sm, but i can fake an entire relationship”
don’t mean to boast, but the way i wrote deserved a shrine on its own, so, you bozos better take a step back before you get your excellence cracked, you don’t want me heading for my chicken scratch, taking on you would be like itching an itch, it’s as simple of that, it’s a wrap. but it’s not over yet
exes be texting me, telling me, to get over them. get over yourselves first and then i might consider it you inconsiderate, ignorant, b-tches, sick of it, this sh-ts is ridiculous, isn’t it?
some yungen told me to play dirty. well, i’m not gonna play nice, i’m a mix of jon koppenhaver with ray rice and a bit of o.j. simpson on the side
to the rappers who think they’re the sh-t, you are. you’re the sh-t that falls outta my -ss crack ‘cause you can’t grasp the fact that you can’t have half the sk!ll that we have
and now i’m feeding off other rappers. and when i say i’m feeding off ‘em, it really means i’m eating ‘em, no meet and greet, i ain’t never been so f-cking hungry
i wanna sulk so don’t approach me, don’t insult or even provoke me, i’m getting nothing but pregnant teens, coming up to me, telling me, my bars are on fleek or are peak, i don’t even know what that means. (what does that even mean? speak english, you queer)
i’m still addicted to rap
this rap sh-t…i dropped out of school for it, got a job to afford it now going to the booth to record it. ya’ll wanting me to slow down, i’m just waiting for lowdown’s album to come out, so he can throw down
what kind of a society do we live in when 15-year-old is getting oral, it’s immoral slash awful. makes me sick to my stomach, ‘cause of it, not a tone of it just some of it, i’m making fun of it, son of a b-tch, i don’t even know what month it is, f-ck this, but in all seriousness…
i don’t wanna hurt you…but f-ck it. i’m going to. boys do i have permission? just say when and i’ll spray, uh! gotta do this sh-t, yo, even if it means my reputation takes a murderous blow or hits a personal low, so? i’ve got no feelings to go, the writer within me is appealing to hoes, i feed you the flow, feet to the floor, eat the beat, bon appet-t, bro, and he knows…
you’ve listened close enough…to get angry and offended, so listen up
hip-hop is everything to me. and you cannot take that away from me
it’s the only thing i’ve continuously brought with me throughout my history
it isn’t a mystery why i don’t rap about b-tches and money, that sh-t gets to me, it really just isn’t a gist for me
december was the worst month of my life, had a bad day? well, i had a month full. got dumbed by a c-nt, now i’m an uncle. didn’t handle it as well as some do, but what do i know? i’m just some dude
this is my art, this is what i do. and if i’ve offended you – in any way, chances are you were an emotional wreck anyway
never be in a relationship again? fine. lose a handful of best mates down the line? so, what? i don’t mind, they are just some of the sacrifices i’m willing to make to make it. success is the best revenge, they hate to see you doing better than them
rappers behind the mic be dissing me. they wouldn’t be dissing me if they were here with me, right next to me, listening to me. you f-cking sissies. this is just a little sample of what you get if you mess with me. i don’t take back anything i say, i’m just angry, it’s a p-ssing phase
give me another minute to spit it abit quick, lit wick, spit vinegar and liquorice with liquor and vicks in this b-tch. twisted liquid mix of sig sauer and six sourz, listening to yaowa, you f-cking pig/cowards, i pick power. all of my opponents, i destory you with this one component. i own you
you’re thinking when will i end this sh-t, so i’mma end it
let’s cut the small talk like an umbilical cord ‘cause life’s too short, rest in peace to my uncle paul. better get comfortable. ‘cause we’re here for the long-haul. to you, that’s a midlife crisis, believe the hype this…is the beginning of a new era, no error, all four of us could bust all eight nuts but still give no f-cks
so children cover your ears, b-tches and gents cross your legs like you need a p-ss, ‘cause this…this right here is history in the making. leaving you haters second guessing about putting up defence mechanisms. life is what you make it. but it all starts with what you make of yourselves. the david trap project is coming soon so stay tuned, thank you. d.trap

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