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letra de post mortem - chuuwee

[verse 1]
check it, what’s up with all this boredom?
you fresh to death, i’m post mortem
the jordan of recordin’, thug poet did the score
it’s like the ’93 bulls champion sh-t i be endorsin’
i get these women wet, they bring me gifts i call em dolphins
the flow is off the coast, i’m sure of it like where i’m walkin’
with the sand between my toes so get the f-ck up off my dorsal fin
coastin’ doors open in that suicide with dro and wind
inhalin’ never chokin’ on that buddha blessed, i’m gold as sh-t
this rappin’ sh-t i hold it like it’s holstered
i’m off the wall like hatin’ n-ggas sn-tchin’ down my posters
i’m up and down the city like a f-ckin’ roller coaster
you best to put that offer on the table like a coaster
my management legit, she handle sh-t like she supposed to
and t.u.s. will murder any n-gga that approach us
i kick a style like jackie, jet, and chuck norris the coldest
still i’m hot as pensacola when my pencil get to rollin’ n-gga
fill me with liquor watch me start a drunken rage
and write a thousand words a minute on somebody else’s page
then sell it for a million to some wack n-ggas and lames
and still be k!llin’ sh-t with half the sh-t i wrote in seventh grade
they burn me like a blunt, i love when my sh-t get played
you need to p90x your rhymes you weak as seven days
you speak they don’t applaud
i spit and turn the stage into a rave and shut the venue down like fire marshals say
the prince of sacramento; on my hierarchy phase
cut the joggin’ before i put you out like trash on garbage day
or a small kitchen flame, i douse you n-ggas fires
you n-ggas lyric liars, my n-ggas vivid writers
i light myself on fire until i’m hot like richard pryor
you wack as sh-t at this, go get a grip, go get some pliers
you see me on the fliers, i’m the lyricist for hire
and i’m pickin’ n-ggas off like scopin’ hostiles from my sniper
bow!

- chuuwee

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