lirik lagu taskforce – intro
[intro, scratched]
“chester p hackenbush”
[verse]
i tear it up like the claws of satan
i ain’t sick, i’m nauseating
on hold like a caller waiting
barefaced like fornicating on telly stations
with a girl you’ve never met
the night before your engagement
i’ll take you back, like the zulu nation
and make a dance choke
like spraying gas into its ventilation
i make girls scream at my presentation
i’m a nightmare like wesley craven’s imagination
i spit radiation that’s causing desolation for them fake ones
(fake ones, fake ones, fake ones!)
rappers stand there
prepare to get blitz
don’t watch me
it ain’t just my style that’s fixed
so, what’s your name?
marvin?
ain’t your second name g-ye?
you look lost like the weight around ricki lake’s waist
every word i say leaves a foul taste like a stamp
when i speak you’re in danger like a chicken in a diet camp
i control the light like a diaphragm
leave rappers drawn like a diagram
pull hoes like a fireman
so, that’s why i am
known to throw blows militant
beating me’s like seeing cats give birth to elephants
you don’t need to move, this cold will make you sweat
like being sixth place in a game of russian roulette
battle me and you’ll be dead
instead of being famous
i’ll break in your house like a new pair of trainers
you’re better off nameless
than being maimed by a lion tamer via entertainer
who you should call danger
and i’m out of sight
trying to see me is like watching broken tvs
or anorexic girls in bikinis
but you can see me war
i don’t just battle talk
my name alone will tame a raging bull like i was a matador
i’ve scattered more seeds than a farmer from salvador
and make the hardest rappers act timid
like a battered dog
i keep my rhymes catalogued
pack a style to shatter mics
i’m so high above you
this could leave your lungs paralysed
from a height that’s greater than satellites
take any b-tch rapper
and turn him into a battered wife
’cause this ain’t nice
like a mampi trying to lap dance
or a toilet in a crack house
sit on it to sh-t and then the thing’ll spit it back out
bright enough to find my way through a blackout
and all you’re going to see’s my back now
chester p’s the recipe for fine invention
testing me will hold you back!
like a school detention
a lot of rappers only shoot videos
they battle me as a man
and then greet defeat as an embryo
i’m belittling with a style that’s crippling like being shot in the spine
i’m sickening like strickening disturb the normal mind with force
you’ll get broke like laws
if you filed as frauds my spoken source of war takes no hostage
all i do is just spit
fake mc get no love like them busted chicks
my style’s like aids, you’re going to die if you f-ck with it
clash with me and feel lit
like it was a truck you hit
i’m tight like ren and stimpy
chewed more beef than wimpy
don’t diss me
i’ve been on more tracks than linford christie
call me winter
then try and keep me out like the cold
’cause my style’s so dark it makes you wonder where the light go
i’m uncontrollable
like a schizophrenic rhino
you face the master then stagger home like a wino
you came here to battle then the truth hits ya
beating me is like going up against a tank with a water pistol
talentless challengers
fall with every pen stroke
you have to die first before you learn that my pen chokes
[outro, scratched]
“chester p hackenbush
task force forever”
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