disturbed - chronic (oz) lyrics
[verse 1: chronic]
[verse 2: mattox]
sick of the pressure a bit
better of letters are gonna be writ’
bit of a peasant, i didn’t find treasure
i fly in a moment to cities, where weather are nicer
i’m slicin’ n dicin’ the mic
darkest of days and i’m finding a light
hard to be blamed for the hardest of fight
never play games when walkin’ with knifes
keeping it tight, whenever i be recording on rhymes
pen it with venom, look into my eyes
marks of tha devil, i’m hardly a rеbel
i start in a game n i starting a levеl, i mark on a ak
don’t start on a mate, or get barred, when i bark, and i lay flames
who’s tha fake, hey?
true art is a mask, and i make pay
true art is a mask, and i make pay
loose knot on my throat when i cave mate
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