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letra de wai·fu (wī-fo͞o) n. - lil kydd

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my styles are dumb
bars smarter than all the harvard yard

sending a beat to the promised land in a shopping cart

stick to your target and your wally-mart

me and my bag of tricks are sittin in the alleyways and parking lot

i chop you down like george washington

watch the kick and the snare

see how they go nuts like washington carver

got a hold of an mpc?
word to the holy father

for granting me rhymes as i spit to thee

better fade like a tipsy barber
drunk off of the gin and the juice;

the loud and the quiet
the chai tea in the vodka

i’ve no need for the ganja;

instead i grind raps in a fine powder

roll em up and then i spark ya;

and now for the toss up

who’s it gonna be? little red hood or the trenchcoated monster?

mixed with a quart of allspice and a pint of java

coppin rudimentary flows

but the punchlines, allegories and metaphors? boxer

think you proper?
im’ma snap you like a pocky

your sloppy. couldn’t tell the creeds from the rockies

little mac in the den of the kydd and he gettin bodied;

give him a couple of rights and down he goes. four stocks, g

spittin as hot as the keys of alicia

you read me i’m clean but i’m crisp like the bottom of a greaser

i’m the kinda rapper you oughta be nice to

unless you and your whole crew wanna lose your waifus

[that’s your f*cking waifu, homes! go get her!]

one time for the one here comes that ;

pulpit hopping music dropping

nuisance of a rapper;

backslashers better start running

hastaggers stuck on the stunting
lil kydd ain’t in this for nothing;

gonna get a ring off of saturn
put it on my back and get cutting

get me in a track and i flip it
gymnastic get to the tuckin;

and i whack a nine-bar upon you
tsuzuryu with the bludgeon

force trauma
and a dull pain in your back region;

fall back or get eaten
…

kobayashi for the
lot of the red shirts;

i’m picard and you wheaton

with a beef and a bone to pick;

i’m always sick
you nothing but a vegan

sitting on the mic coughing wheezing

heavy breathing

cleanest heathen

meanest, leanest of the game
in a suit coat;

beyond all right, rhyme or a reason

i’m a machine i’m a fiend
i’m whatever you want me to be

when i put my two feet on the scene
you gimme the quarantine;

a medieval rhyming scheme

put it on top of a shoulder lean;

kids avoid me like lima beans

tryna be 5’2″
running with a harpoon

at a monsoon and a kaiju?

well, fine im’ma light you

put a good word in for the young boy and the waifu

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS

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