lirik lagu lil crazed - mc showcase 2011
they say it’s your turn crazed, it’s time to k!ll it baby
who is he, expect the scrutiny because of the skin i carry
but root for me, as you could see no other similarity
first were booing me now they salute me like the military
i remember clearly, there was barely a hype
now they antic-p-te when i take my blackberry and type
blog on various sites, about when i bury the mic
saying this beast spits heat, 212 degrees fahrenheit
so check the furnace, i burn it, staying concurrent
with verbal murders on purpose, it’s like i write raps in cursive
when this man’s spitting, his hand writtens stay in motion
like a dam’s lifted all across the whole bay’s ocean
i stay flowing, with an “odd future” like frank ocean
except i don’t contain novocain for the pain
i just overdose on beats i throw over an open flame
and cook it up with heat, so shouts to lil b
woooh, swag, based in the bas-m-nt
top spot locked like a safe in the bank sh-t
prior, you admired sahtyre, it’s time i light it cuz well
he p-ssed the cypher to “man on fire,” i’m denzel
“american gangster” not, but criminal plots
i’m in my living room just thinking of new victims to crop
out the picture, and never took subliminal shots
but leave a g shocked, like i lost a digital watch, gosh
and i’m light as h-ll, can’t you tell
but still get jacked son, take an l, samuel
get “shaft”ed you b-st-rds or aka rappers
who happen to be the sh-t, here borrow my son’s pampers
it’s clear though, you zero i’m the number that come’s right after
put you on a platter, smash on it, then start to counting backwards
a firecracker type modern rapper that models desire after
stephan swagger, they swallow all of my “family matters”
but a nerd so lovable, when i turn right back into urkal
and fly, no need for personal jets or reside in terminals
forget a pilot, a pirate, don’t care about the car i be in, (caribbean)
they staring and repeating like parrots the bars i feed ’em
haters always tell me “eat a cat, rookie”
a freak on the beats the way i eat that p-ssy
good riddance to these kittens and writtens they all spitting
i kick it with the golden (gold in) entourage, jeremy piven
and shout to all of my cambodians and such
cuz my people hold me down, that’s my anchor, what (angkor wat)
that line might have been over ya head, limbo
but i’m gearing for that non-predictable lyrical sh-t
that these mini little minuscule minded kids couldn’t get
unless you rewind my video, play it back, listen again
and read the lyrics scripted in description box below
then you pr-cks could witness how vicious this sh-t is i got to show
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