lirik lagu k21 - rap game travolta (chris horrell remix)
[verse 1: k21]
just call me k, let me talk my smack
handle minds, i do it all like that
let loose on a troop till he falls right back
the one man army kickin’ war time rap
just pulp fiction, not a story track
till the truth is here and they’re taught the math
but before all that i’m sure you’ll add it up
by the time faint one’s gonna scratch the cut
the promoters said, “next track, you’re up”
“who, me? ha, nah, where’s your head at?
i’m not playin’ till i get a bowl of green m&m’s
and headlock and kirk bring the premium blend back”
another rugrat who leaped from the pen
crawled to the club, now i’m gonna leave with a ten pack
dead that, i’ma leave to invent tracks
that’ll make your head crack with no lead bat
putt fire in the sky, call me deodato
with a baby-face, it ain’t leonardo, but
everything i utter on a beat’s staccato
with an appet-te that’ll eat your half-notes
make iller-noise, never seen chicago
moon cans i’m rocking fresh off the crater
so your special move won’t ever do a thing
when i react and i’m comin’ with a combo breaker (combo breaker)
now say goodnight
save the encore and fade the lights
terminate every name on sight
when the day goes night i’ma make it right
do it even if doesn’t make a right
although still i ain’t lying dormant
and i ain’t livin’ by the book
’cause i’d rather be livin’ it like an author, say it
[chorus: guru]
“you could say i’m sorta the boss, so get lost—get lost”
“you could say i’m sorta the boss, so get lost”
“you could say i’m sorta the boss, so get lost”
“you could say i’m sorta the boss, so get lo—lo—lo—lost”
[verse 2: k21]
solemnly sold my soul
ain’t something that you’d fix with solder
live that martian life, that’s why every year
i manage to get colder
every—every other rapper that’ll talk that smack
like, “man, his style is old”
i made a peace sign, turned it round for
then started dancing like travolta
d—d—dancing like travolta
but, but i take to the heart like uma
went on tour with the hoods, twenty shows
and i roll around with the same nasty pumas
still, half cyborg, half producer
with no heart to lose, that would be hard to do
so if i ain’t the number one, i’m on the path to soon
’cause i’m -ssuming the position like kama sutra
and i ain’t slowin’, how? i just go all out
and never know the round or throw the towel
you’re over now whenever i roam the town
i’ma make ’em all scream like rose mcgowan
that conan sound i only wrote to pound
so profound, from the coast i’m bound to be the dopest found
and to the centre too, i’m unforgettable
to every fool up on a pedestal i’ll throw them down
oh, what’s now?
straight in the door, comin’ through, run it with the misfits
and all these other motherf-ckers wanna hate
and get all mad at me because they think i stuck it in their missus
here’s a funnel you can p-ss in
and wear my shoes if you really think you’re runnin’ in my distance
try and gun it like a piston
i wish you all the best, can a motherf-cker get a witness?
[chorus: guru]
“you could say i’m sorta the boss, so get lost—get lost”
“you could say i’m sorta the boss, so get lost”
“you could say i’m sorta the boss, so get lost”
“you could say i’m sorta the boss, so get lo—lo—lo—lost”
[verse 3: mac lethal]
remix!
it’s a double v b-tch, vince and vega
got pulp fiction in the vcr
gonna pull [?] on a motherf-cker
if you wanna be -ssh0l- and key my car
[?] benz, got a little madman
in a hot syringe, so when the cops come in
i’m k!lling every motherf-cker ever had it out me
[?] a wh0r- [?] throw ’em off the balcony
get back, i’m gorgeous, i’m thinkin’ that
meth lab’s enormous, gonna pull the trigger
shoot you in the face and put your motherf-ckin’ body
up in dead rapper storage
you f-ckin’ idiot, i see you brought a gun but my sword is better
but you took a lot of money out my pocket
[?] you better leave a letter
[?] just go down like butch, givin’ oral pleasure
to the godd-mn european chick with the accent
shimmy, shimmy your b-tt, gimme, gimme the f-ck
i mean i had it with the god d-mn trap sh-t
meanwhile [?] she a bad b-tch
sixty-two [?]
[?] of a big kahuna burger
give me the feeling, you never hurt a [?]
like i’m hillary clinton usin’ a server that’s illegal
they could blow your brains out, give me h-lla knowledge
get yourself demolished, got a couple motherf-ckers
walkin’ ’round with my soul in a black briefcase
like m-rs-llus wallace
and the code is six-six-six
band-aid on the back of my neck
i rap for respect, you don’t wanna take it outside
you stay indoors like the back of a cheque
solemnly sold my soul, pull my car right out for profit
i just bought your f-ckin’ life, take the money out my wallet
listen truly, i’m the shepherd, you’re the sheep
i like rappers like my steak
bl–dy as h-ll with salt-n-pepa on the beat
give it to make like that, anybody fight back?
i’ll blam ’em in the shoulder
stuck the needle in my arm and started dancin’ like travolta
i’m so motherf-ckin’ handsome and i’m older
than all you little b-tches
[outro: guru]
“you could say i’m sorta the boss”
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