lirik lagu kendrick lamar - illuminati proper
[verse 1: kendrick lamar]
these streets is jur-ssic, cowards get asthematic
astronauts hover throughout the atmosphere
that’s the ghetto bird. pull up on the curve
“w-ssup homie!”, smoke a n-gga then dip
it’s the immaculate, verbal -ss-ssin
strangle your perfect etiquette to an accent
this the jesus of nazareth
spittin’ gold policies to a world unknown
in a cherry low low, with four zones of weed
no sticks, no seeds
prestigious when i pulsate the 50 states
my need for speak can corral the largest crowds
mosh pit, with a big d-ck screamin’ “b-tches ain’t sh-t!”
she gobble gobble for hours, i jumped in the shower
i dismantle, devour hardest emcees, softer than clam chowder
no challengers can compete, their childish and weak, detrimental
hazardous hazard to instrumentals, intertwined with god and frankenstein
[hook]
i’m corrupted
i’m corrupted
[verse 2: kendrick lamar]
gimme a hundred g’s, for every emcee i dropped to their knees
verbally useless
“oh you got the juice!?” i squeeze you juiceless
catch you, hang you, from any nooses
been the truth since “snoop and tha pound” was f-ckin over ruthless
young and i’m ruthless
21 with 21 guns, shot and saluted for pac
lyrical cyclops, lasering in on paper and fraudulent friends
b-tch you’s a b-tch in disguise, and b-tches get ten
bullets to their midsection, mr. lethal injection
in the regal higher than church steeples
i swear to god, can ya lyrics in a jar
i’m a pterodactyl tearin ya squad like pardon
me and terrace martin enacting martin
cannibal coexisting with the coldest, that mean i’m the sickest
and thera-flu won’t do, whenever i’m kicking the wickedness
explosive, cinematic, smoking
like the barrel of this tec aimin at ya neck
[hook]
i’m corrupted
i’m corrupted
[verse 3: kendrick lamar]
i’m from c-o-m-p-t-o any n-gga can get it
the lil homie strapped and he with it
at the avalon’s swap meet, “w-ssup fool!?”
blunt longer than rosecrans
i grab the devil then slow dance
practice trigonometry
practice my aim on rooftops eating pastrami sandwiches
you are counterfeit, worthless piece of verses surf this
west coast with a big scope k!ll all yal
it’s top dawg, tde, cpt
quick to tell a b-tch jump on my d-ck a-s-a-p
complete havoc composer, disorder: rhyme addict
slaughter houses full of joeys, joells, and royces for ya
live from the area code of 310
laughing all the way to the bank with 3 elmos
three 64’s, 1 bottle of goose
i’m the truth
you can put ya hand on the bible and shoot
[hook]
i’m corrupted
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