lirik lagu team napalm - no way out
– also appears on chapel’s alb-m ‘complex mind’ as
‘suicide’
[intro: chapel]
f-cking, like suicide, boy, yo, yo
[chorus 2x: sample]
uh, sometimes i cry, (there inside), realize
it’s like suicide, there’s no way out (no way out)
[chapel]
wild, wreck the rhymes, bust out of my mouth
build styles like an architect, building a house
chit-chattering, stop that blab in your mouth
i got props worldwide, reach out of the south
fighting drug free lifestyles, chapel will joust
against mc’s soft, like a low cut blouse
keeps ya penal, proteges follow my route
keep ya lips sealed, boy, what you talking about?
i’mma bust you, stand back, burners’ll shout
i keep it all foul, with a thug profile
your style premature like an unborn child
fragile, weak -ss, boy, you ain’t wild
supreme courts, f-ck that, jump that trial
my boys grab franklins, b-mping coat childs
came a long way, yeah, i ran a few miles
i may not blast cats when i burst, chik-chik-kapow!
[chorus 2x]
[dom pachino]
they ask me what’s my main focus, poker face, lookin’
the dopest
always keep my gear in check, and plus, my chain is
ferocious
i got b-tches, from coast to coasts, la cosa nostra
is the kid, with the toaster that’s ready to roast ya
never heard of a hostler, i’m fiending to smoke ya
got the game in a chokehold, getting brains in sudoco’s
it’s the kid from staten island from the army of locos
we international, though we used to be local
couple shows around the globe, sh-t, folks notice you
couple magazine ads, those kids are rad
even white boys love us, b-tches, they wanna thug us
told my team, when you f-ck with them b-tches, to rock
rubbers
and undercovers, pull up on my block and what not
the spectators don’t say sh-t, or get they sh-t rocked
you fake thugs, should of learned something from 2pac,
pop, pop, pop…
[chorus 2x]
[dom pachino]
it’s not your normal, formal, get together
you have now, been introduced to terror
mind power, the type that bring down some towers
wet ya like a cold shower, it’s official, rip ya
bristle
kiss of death, nah, the missile tow more like a missile
flow
gladiator like russell crowe, but in the studio
i put words together, like birds of a feather flock
undercovers, they smother the block, like a rubber on
my c-ck
to discover what’s hot, home boy, you not
so put that mic down, let it go, you hear the sound of
a bell
battle rap, in the dungeons of h-ll
i’m sweating bullets, sh-tting grenades, spitting gun
powder
i take a shower in fire, and hear a shout
that’s when i remember, that there’s no way out
[chorus 2x]
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