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letra de under reconstruction - zis & the curator

i bet you don’t hit them, i bet you don’t hit them come on, what’s up? kakanda i’m the son of the sun, don’t mind the heat wave you would need 20 hackers with axes to chop down and decrypt this keychain ring around the rosie, rappers nosy as f-ck but put your ring around the rosie and the phones will make sure that you get cut a sad story how these n-ggas got touched i keep it tugged, n-ggas slap just like young chris if he front if he can, we chant jackie, he’s stunning land happily he don’t waste time, he guarantee that none of our n-ggas get rushed we in the end of days, but i’m still pinning greatness might as touch how i be pinning gold i was broke, now problem solved, you can’t relate cuz you cotton mouth and every rhyme you snitch is fabrication used to wanna be like the m&ms but couldn’t be sweet then k-mara and kune my roads are gravel so it made it hard to be street allow the way, i’m on a track and i bleed i wasn’t key to their rhythm, though they sent snares my tempo made it hard to be beat i’m instrumental though, you wack rappers stay abolished floating in your tomboy, them musume cowards stay in polish punchlines like my name muhammad and now mohammed, every other rapper claim they nailing it you building a name, we get that sh-t demolished yeah, it’s like i’m fighting musona, the way i’m pushing knowledge and moses came to wash away all of these fake prophets hard volume 2 dropping on the 31st of mancha i’m the son of the sun, but don’t be basking your favorite rapper wack and his facts, go and ask him i’m standing with the pen cuz i’m writing marvelous mad sh-t you stand lead to the hip cuz the way you n-ggas be masking can’t let these wack rappers prevail shoutout to ray kaz, next album i want a verse man you know i can k!ll, shout my n-ggas prevail in cheap towns, i guess i did it and that was all i had still it’s big snot so i’m here my g, yeah, sign, z nah, f-ck that sh-t, i ain’t really done speaking look, raising a pot of burning oil and what if the situation’s heated i needed a bit of royalty inside of me to weaken the spirit of doubt heathen they scream and they shout when we hit the scene and bikini reap of the beat, spit it out even the boot just how i like it, extra crispy fire bars i’m spitting, my engineer knows it’s risky to mix me so miss me with all the bullsh-t you spitting you claim that you the sh-t, you ain’t sh-t my n-gga, you sh-tting me i’m the epitome of tip top, a long drop a perfect example of what you other rappers couldn’t be i lose myself in these 16’s, o-level teacher she still fantasizing as big dreams, o-level teacher and it’s all a procedure, my n-gga mix the crack with weedy like roll up the seizure my n-ggas break her heart and send her to you, you receive her you fall in love and she just play with your heart for her leisure you n-ggas better be ready when zits descend from the clouds fake rap prophets tremble cuz their loan is due they borrow their nouns and verbs and nouns the words of the wise to the world and reap it i scored a chick that lost both parents like no keepers living life like we never gon’ die, like there’s no reapers for me cuz of my condition, lie only on thick peaches get a bag while you fantasize about big peaches they short of arms to slide through my line, they just can’t reach us desist

- zis the curator

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