lirik lagu mr. krane – made you look
[intro]
it’s time to bring the cl-ssic rap sh-t back, muh’f-cka
yo
[verse 1]
journey through the dark side, get the f-ck up!
made you look, k!ll your darlings in cold blood
let the beat play, know who am i, punk?
gritty voice, friend or foe, say the name, c-nt!
this a young krane, mad and reckless
i beat the sh-t out your piñata, choke my nikes with necklace
you missed the hardcore sh-t? i was yet to come
’cause i didn’t have the license to my f-cking guns, uh
infinite amount of rounds in this mighty pen
skipped a year, needed time to f-cking comprehend
i’m not a scream king, f-ck it, i just move in silence
get my d-ck sucked and calm myself with the violence
who the f-ck run it? triple 6 god
i’m so indie i don’t need your help with whipsaw
i want to slit your wrists, i want to cut my face
so that i have a chance to duplicate the scarface
i don’t flush my kids in toilet in despair
beat the sh-t out your loved ones, let ’em bleed there
ultraviolent saga, alex, high-five
not the triple x bullsh-t, this is my life
[hook: nas (x2)]
they shootin’! aw, made you look
you a slave to a page in my rhyme book
gettin’ big money, playboy, your time’s up
where them gangsters at? where them dimes at?
[verse 2]
work hard, play hard, this a f-cking motto
hustle hard everyday saying f-ck to problems
no rest for the wicked, if my time is money
then i have to break your back in second to fill up my tummy
i gotta eat, motherf-cker, that’s why i’m ready for
whatever it takes to get this cash, even start a war
f-ck the civilian b-tches, they ain’t sh-t for me
i’m like new adolf mengele, i have to cut that foreign
i’m not a fan of writing and i’m scared of ghosts
guess how anxious i become when i mix these words?
the walls are closing in, paranoia never sleeps
i bash my head with the radio and become a creep
there goes another pill, f-ck responsibility
i don’t get respect on streets, that is f-cking k!lling me
ain’t got no hood mentor but all the f-cking bets on me
mastermind at its finest, feel this f-cking heat!
[hook: nas (x2)]
they shootin’! aw, made you look
you a slave to a page in my rhyme book
gettin’ big money, playboy, your time’s up
where them gangsters at? where them dimes at?
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