lirik lagu bbc – a1th
[verse 1: a1th]
i’m a youtube rapper, rhymezone every day (uh*huh)
jean baptiste, pierre antoine de monet, ho (yup)
talking sh*t to me, you get clocked in your jawbone (yeah, what?)
i don’t got a strap, i got a b and then a call home (ayo)
uh, i beat the 5’1″ allegations
take your music passion, consider reallocation (please, do it)
your sh*t is garbage, boy, if you didn’t receive the message (do it)
piecing you up and i hit the griddy, then i leave the session ([?])
you throwing hits out likе the ravens, they ain’t caught, boy (huh?)
uh, i hеar your sh*t, i turn it off, boy (yeah, uh)
the mcgriddles’ overrated, they ain’t hot, boy (huh?)
you’re always talking ’bout me, like, please get off of my c***, boy (please)
hollow tips are gonna send you in reverberation (yeah)
met up with your female, we engaged in fornication (uh*huh)
walkin’ over you, your face is basically stored in the pavement
saying that you’re up next, um, ho, i’m still busy waiting
uh!
[verse 2: keno kaizo]
only dapping up my homies, either way, you’ll still be getting clapped
i feel my rapping worthy by the way i’m smokin’ on yo ash
gots caps stuck on my head, but i stay spitting the truth
i feel like the king, they call me luther, i pull up and start a movement
boy, i’m going stupid, in my rapping bag, but some days, i’m producing
brodie stay inside, i’m in the heat, i need some extra cooling
and my ass just fly to school, they’ll never catch your boy commuting
sk!llful, how i spin the block like i was hooping (yo, i ball)
eyes thin, but the money thick (for real)
catch these bars cold, way i’m on the mic and dummy sick
brodie set you up for failure like a lucky pick, yeah
crazy what y’all do for unfunny cl!cks (please get off the internet)
i’m living loco, y’all living local (huh?)
i’m ’bout to turn up ad*lib vocals, so y’all hear me normal (what?)
boy, i feel like king, watch me roam, man, like constantinople (yeah, yeah)
how the f*ck do i keep getting all these opals? (what the f*ck?)
[verse 3: nish*th]
b*tch, i’m back up on this rapping sh*t, like moms on christmas day
your yesmen lie to you like moms and santa, talent’s fake
k!llin’ beats like leonard hill, might dump their bodies in the lake
every time i get up on a beat, i k!ll it, that sh*t’s cake
rollin’ random, going up, that sh*t’s my paradise (pair of dice)
global warming on the mic, but my wrist is iced (wrist is iced)
millennials tryna be us, they think they funny, right?
talkin’ sh*t, but he’ll millennial pause when i’m in his sight
(is this on?\?)
you cooking with rhymezone, b*tch, i know you don’t know the word pallidly
not on waverly place, but when i cook, i do this sh*t magically
they hatin’ ’til they hear the heat, i know they cannot fathom me (no, they can’t)
they hatin’ on the come up, they can count to three and suck on deez
you need to get a job, your local mcdonald’s is hiring
get off the mic and flip some burgers, sh*t is tiring (you need a job)
this ain’t it, this is trash, what you want?
they need to take your mic and keep that sh*t for ransom (please don’t give that sh*t back)
yeah
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