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letra de good mourning - martin malota

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good morning
dl jones on the beat and mola1 on the street
we both come from the d. 31 to the 3

i wake up in the morning and p-ss excellence, then spit
brushing my t–th and i rinse away the evidence
while i’m yawning i eat a rapper for breakfast
turn every expletive that they ever spit in to excrement

rap sh-t, ever since i was born
i’m bjorn borg with this racket, immaculate word is
bond…james. game recognize game
dames recognize fame, i don’t recognize lames

like who the f-ck is this, annoying me at 9:46?
wack rappers on the early morning mix
some very corny sh-t it’s like a f-ck you to the audience
so f-ck you to the radio and anyone applauding it

if cleanliness is godliness, i’m obviously jesus christ with mics
and maybe that was even just a little modest
the rap artist slash flash gordon of recording
i got the world in my palm and i’m thinkin’ bout bowling

good morning. good morning
dl jones on the beat and mola1 on the street
we both come from the d. 31 to the 3

it’s like a wake-up call

it’s a wrap for wack rappers, i’m hard core
i’m backflippin over you b-st-rds while laughing and screaming “parkour!”
and while i’m on tour, they want an encore
how i’m a let you down? flow wet torrential downpour

i’m on a concorde, no waiting at the concourse
we’ll see you, there’ll be a minute til’ you’re on yours
you know the pad’s got armoires on all floors
and on top of that we got alotta wh0r-s on all fours

livin’ so large that my cars got garage doors
and i got a golf course, indoors on the top floor
taliban’s asking me why i’m so hard for
and kim jong’s ill, back spinnin’ on the cardboard

this is bad, real bad, we in mordor
i’m goin’ hard, use the force luke, star wars
your favorite rapper’s face hung up on my dart board
guess i’ll be the underdog riding on my dark horse

good morning
dl jones on the beat and mola1 on the street
we both come from the d. 31 to the 3

i used to break beats physically by putting my foot down
when cats would speak up and tell me i need a hook
now, clowns, why should i have to count to see if it’s sixteen
if i’m upside down with a brush at the sistine?

did michaelangelo have to go through with the same sh-t
like, mother f-cker, just let me paint this
arrangement is stranger, than the hawth-rne mayor’s
i’m a pop corn player on the block throwing layups – stay up

the cleaner mola’s name up – martinizing
your whole persona’s made up like you apologizing
quit rapping fake f-cks, keep harmonizing
i kid nap and rape drums, never compromising

optimized for my performance, the rhyme is so gorgeous
the tyrant, i’m enormous
abominable flow man, you’re hiding in the snow drifts
microphone jesus when i’m speaking at the pulpit – i’m focused

good morning
dl jones on the beat and mola1 on the street
we both come from the d. 31 to the 3

where we goin’ for breakfast?

- martin malota

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