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letra de mr. fire in the booth - akala

[verse 1 ]
they call me mister fire in the booth
don’t force me to remind you why
never gave a guy a bly ever who will ramp with i?
the half breed seed sprouting his disease
haunting emcees like dessaline in napoleon’s dream
i’m mean, not a team, nor a squad nor a nation
unless its haitian
could break the back of my occupation
cooperation is the only clever option open
any choice you’re given is fake
kinda like you voting
either way, the victory’s mine son
shoulda done as your mum said, listen to dad
i gave you life, thats inside of you
and, i provided too
now you wanna question the very wisdom that guided you
sounding like enlightened fools
running from a spiteful brawl
but in my city we don’t know how to be nice at all
we know the knife’s a tool
and that this life has rules
and the youngsters use them and lose them just on their bike to school

[hook x2 : akala]

they call me mister fire in the booth, booth
they call me mister fire in the booth, booth
they call me mister fire in the booth, booth
cos i’m always spittin’ out the truth, truth

[verse2]

they call me mister fire in the booth protect ya neck
cos its sun tzu with a hoodie on, plato with a pair of creps
use to reppin’ where there’s weapons and never a santa
we turn a stanza to a cancer with poetic banter
so no factor that chat which rappers crack
i cold turkey that pratt, and let you have him back
if we believe your act that you believe that you can rap
you’ll get punished for stupid beliefs, and its more than slaps
the impact on the head of the hard headed
bet that he’ll get his little rap and facade, deaded
in the ring with the king of the paragraphs
come on then sweetheart, let us have a dance
your twinkle toes and pretty pose could never dazzle
the one who throws a million souls and it’s never h-ssle
battles are pleasure for a general n0body told you?
smash you a hole that is big enough to sn-tch your soul through

[hook x2 : akala]

[verse 3]

i take ’em out
(all on my own)
cos that’s the way im made
maybe in your culture suicide is being brave
the sage of the page makes graves plagued with dark ages
and ain’t no choice to be buried i only do cremating
for little idiots thats not even rated
not even hated not even a factor that needs to be calculated
and you can’t explain it, much less contain it
roll with us or get crushed, that i’ve already stated
in the plainest terms
but fools never learn
still tryna be what they’re not like wearing the blondest perm
cos of loss of purpose, i have you lost on purpose
you can’t escape the furnace, so best you praise my verses
look around the cooning’s a lot
i spit a sentence quick like a judge with a coon in the dock
but these clowns with their dead sound hate me
still they don’t count like a dead brown baby

- akala

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