lirik lagu lyrical king – kool keith
[kool keith:]
(everybody know that) the lyrical king
(everybody know that) lyrical king
(everybody know that sh-t) the lyrical king
(everybody know that) lyrical king
(everybody know that)
little kids get scared
i smack the sh-t out of a monster when i devour
that’s why i sh-t on austin powers
watch n-gg-z get souped up and comfortable like the plymouth prowler
no homerun b-st-rds, i line up everybody like a fouler
like they mix baking soda and pasta
only thing these motherf-ckers touch, is tide and soap powder
(f-ckin soap powder!) microphone perpetration i see through
i want my vocals up louder
b-tch i write some verses with high octane curses
popeye and kentuck’ sponsor
i turned down deals with church’s
y’all f-cked up cause the colonel made the purchase
i can’t no longer support 50 thousand mc’s, homeless and worthless
the sh-t department, i thought you was a delivery
packagin, i put you in charge, alright supervisin p-ss
my messages get across state to state when i shift doo-doo
out on freight, i take a break
laugh at you -ssholes, with club soda and lemon cake
listen close, examine is that the star flow?
while you talkin baboon sh-t on the radio
i cancelled seein ducks at the magic show
i know some mexicans that sh-t through, the custom sunroof
b-tt-naked in barstow
with bloodhounds on the back of the graffiti air force nikes
that bark low, remember you f-ckin with somebody pro
i shake the p-ss off my d-ck, on your alb-m intro
next time you tell the engineer to bring it in slow
toy–ss n-gg-z, i been past n-gg-z
test crash dummies, i know people that work with these, crash n-gg-z
for the last 6, 008 months i’ve been hearin trash n-gg-z
with f-cked up paparazzis
that think they clownin big-head motherf-ckers
hot v-g-n-s under they crotch
i like when they bullsh-t on the mic, and play hopscotch
touch the controls, adjust your platinum and gold
put the c-ke all up in your f-ckin nose
don’t sleep you better take that no-doz
ain’t no motherf-cker pushin kilos
ask the motherf-cker next to you, he knows
raggy-aggy, wear your pants baggy
in front of your used jaggy
you ain’t 24 track you still macky
opposite dress that’s tacky
y’all f-ckin with jonathan braggy
basket of bread you grabby
your f-ckin sides are overweight, can’t come in here lookin stupid and flabby
lyrical king~! (lyrical king)
lyrical king~! (y’all know, lyrical king)
lyrical king~! motherf-ck it
[voice lowered:]
lyrical king
you know the lyrical king when you see him
i don’t have to reveal myself to motherf-ckers nowhere ever
when i walk in the room, you rip your motherf-ckin papers up
you shut the studio time down
you get that motherf-cker out the booth
you tell that n-gg- he’s whack
you let motherf-ckers know, who’s in the motherf-ckin back
you serve that coffee, you serve that tea
you let a motherf-cker know he’s comin out the f-ckin teepee
f-ck you motherf-ckers, and all you whack–ss motherf-ckers
you know who the motherf-ckin lyrical, motherf-ckin king is!
suck the dillz
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