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letra de i'm killing - tumi

[intro]
[?]

[verse 1]
bustin’, the twenty-thirteen illmatic
the thirty-plus t is spazzin’. ay yo i heard ’em say
“he’s a has-been,” the chirping turns quick to tragic
when the turtle out-thinks the rabbit
prefer to write deep and p-ssion, fertile like seeds turn the tide
so you identify or certify cl-ssic
murder by accident, i was just practicing wording my raps
in vernacular, there was rhymin’- beware of the shrapnel
this here is an animal riven its mandible
certain its venomous, well at least compared to a labrador
this here’s honor roll, the legend has gotta go
i nursing rap with a verse sh-t you swear it’s like lavender oil
back on my art of a oratory
i’m known for bringing a business like a bungalow corner store
cut your loses and bungee cord back to your mommy’s scr-t-m
i ignite ’em and burn anyone gas bomb audience
f-ck the chorus, i’m just going instru’ punch and record
while the lawyers huntin’ for my missin’ publishing forms
missus droppin’ the daughter mission get nappies for her
how my vision went from nappy n-gg- to napkin with a fork
i’m munchin’ like a screengrab
f-ckin’ on beanbags, ratches still calling me back for a rematch
’cause i put the pipe down like rehab
tea-baggin’ the hunnies in your video-scene, ha!
meanwhile we back at motif labs
putting bars on c-max k!lling possie drags
’cause back when you were dancin’ and lean’ back
i had you top five yellow like the chinese flag
f-ck all these radio weak tracks
get radio raheem trying to radio evac’
tease back to f-ck up your summer the game needs that
an’ that e-cl-ss memory seat-back
went from kaffir to rich black, call that decaf
and still hot even with the ac max
big fat motherf-cker, no six-pack
leave tracks in your head that won’t let you relax
(godd-mn)

[interlude]
you’d be number one
[?]

[verse 2]
ungh, it’s twenty-fourteen but really
it’s the minute after i take off, beam
and leave a ladder
it will matter to way
more people livin’ when the k!lling starts
adolf hitler kind of fashion
huge swastika, my sw-ss stick a the gas
rippin’ an -ss of your top-notch, whether he’s real or not
jew get a ticket to watch them p-ssing their pants
witness a m-ssacre, bam bam, with a sickle and hammer
i’m joseph stalin on ’em, don’t gotta want ’em, they know
i’m performin’, name on the jumbo-tron as a forerunner
the audience want an encore, they calling out
for all of them no response, call the coroner
heard no feedback at back to the city
go there, ski-mask robbin’ the children, not rappin’, i’m k!llin’
word on the streets, now we soft at motif
an’ i can sing if rihanna believe it, how’s that for a reason?
zaki my children perf’, my kid x
the real deal keirnan my youngsta, zubz the master
know some others that are too pro, hands up
i khuli answer if you question our standards
yeah, this enigmatic with a little added thing about it
your rappin’ dignitary wishin’ he had it
anybody nappin’, sleepin’, get the pink blankets
silly rabbit, don’t think of battlin’, i’m really a rabid
sickly dog, spittin’ raw like the symptoms are showing
ticking bomb, k!ll an army without liftin’ an arm
t is god, i’m mean rappin’ n-gg-, not really god
sh-t we on, it’s like infinity and beyond
come see the boss if your buzz like my [?] and lawn
full on for a budget for a couple of songs
f-ckin’ award like whitey from [?]
pump shots, top of the ball, no guns just metaphors
don’t touch, or get knuckled up, bunched at the door
flow enough, fix yo’ babalas with spy kos
sober up and discuss facts like once more
who hold the crown? the artist formerly fatboy

[outro]
i said that you would be number one
[?]

- tumi

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