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letra de am - torné

[verse 1: torné]

motherf-cker, i almost bleed to death yesterday
ripped two ribs off and used them to stab the now dead presidents
in my house i am the only real resident
’cause fam ain’t truly present so for me they don’t represent more than the leaders of an experiment
what up n-gga, that would be me
a n-gga breeze through the beat with an agony breath, stinking, halfly deceased
n-ggas could never be as wicked as me
a wizard when my vocals surface the beat, a junkie and a piece of trash in the streets
lot of surnames but n-ggas usually call me torné
land full of promises but ain’t nothing left for the autot-tled dopest mc
rapping for myself is what i do casually
every day alone ’cause n-ggas and b-tches ain’t as good as the mic for company
put the earth in a he-rs-, the world ends when this feature really happens
universes erode, i blow up and this sh-t will be coerced and reversely cursed
grab me and earl and put us on a track, ragnarok occurs
headfirst for it in a turf where beat and verse are divorced
drink a whole fifth of rum like i’m a pirate or sh-t
walk carelessly while i’m standing next to the highest of cliffs
smoke three cigarettes and then f-cking riot the spliff
make a nun do a ritual for me and then eternally silence the b-tch

[verse 2: sweat earlshirt]

b-tch, i skated before i rapped
if you take me before your captain, bet 20 hots on your daddy
that someone could noila clap ’em
probably cold and p-ssive
cause pops was the one that got to me
feeling down like he p-ssed it
and when i’m cornered, it’s action, i was kinda out the game
momma put the quarter right back in the slot
in ’09, we took the 7 to the dussy 17 to the block
b-tch, if yo’ n-gga had supreme, we was the reason he copped it
and nowadays i’m on the hunt for mirrors to box with
and some pretty b-tches that ain’t trip if it’s a hit and run
i got the gold cause i don’t do the crying, bro
she mario, i’m tryna keep the whining to a minimum
piggies come, bet i’m splittin’ quicker than i finish rum
find me some indica, nuggets on my fingers
and my shirt like they was chicken crumbs
the room spinnin’, finna yak if i don’t hit the blunt
got the chin waggin’, slim chances of me getting up after this
mind in the trash next to where my f-ckin’ p-ssion went
dodge fanatics, half-a-xanax when i’m traveling
six hours or more, brick out on the tour
got kicked out of the morgue, spit cattle manure sh-t
sh-t, rally the hors-m-n, tally the corpses

- torne

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