lirik lagu mouth – clipping.
[verse 1: daveed diggs]
somebody barking at the moon, let the dogs loose
hunt to k!ll, they motherf-cking jaw’s loose
they talking out they neck, they need a long noose
and a strong tree branch, angle obtuse
see they think they heavy, think they talking weight
like they revolution-ready, wanna storm the gates
like they gonna take the food off the m-ssa plate
while the m-ssa watch they efforts and he m-st-rbate
getting off, a s-d-st hard to satiate
emaciated, make the maître d’ bring him another plate
shifting in they seat, talking that earthquake
shake it ’til she drop it like they yelling it’s her birthday
go girl, go boy, go get it
ammunition, lock it, load it, drop it
buy it, crack it, pour it, sniff it
courage in a vial for your movement, get into it
cause the whole world wanna see you move it
[hook: diggs]
it’s the real hip-hop
where the real get shot
how you feel, trick stop
f-ck your feelings
that’s where k!llers get made
motherf-ckers wanna talk but if you ain’t saying “thanks”
shut your mouth
[verse 2: tivo]
what it do
n-gga stop
money talk
words is counted
what it buy
who give a f-ck
it’s real out here, n-gga you should be about it
okay, these are the times, that bird is easy to follow
you know the hustler’s church, sipping syrup is gospel
in the land of the murder, n-gga the future is bottled
that bottle stuffed with a towel and shot toward a chopper
okay, these are the times, look up, based god is the truth
we turning water to molly and push a tablet to you
he say the ten crack commandments could get your mammy to shoot
your change was sunk with atlantis, who gives a f-ck what you do
how real you gon’ make it, you talking b-tches and bottles
and popping pills in a booth, we’re talking n-ggas with nothing
who prolly crack at your jewels
motherf-ckers go hard with a few shots and a pistol
like 2pac in juice
why you seem scared now, that real, n-gga, that sh-t
[hook]
[diggs]
that’s where eulogies are made
haters popping sh-t, but don’t wanna show they face
shut your mouth
[verse 3: chinaka hodge]
real negra, acrylic feel addictions and sh-t
diligent in diction with epenthesis
an [?] swivelin’ my spine
tremor of my wrist, shrivel up my mind
and the bullet give the emphasis to life, the bodies on the dancefloor often
it’s the gin, the patent, the touch and feel of cotton
shopping for your coffin with your best girl mic’d up
lost in all the popping pills and hoping to get wifed up
blacker than a kara walker silhouette
realer than your uncle and his death by cigarettes
octoroons hiding from the noon sunrays
a block of goons sliding in the smooth gunplay
these are the rites, the rituals, the nighttime mos
and the death toll implicit in a soundcloud demo
plastic black pack speaks rhapsody’s mix
with a clap-clap -sscheek ratchetry, b-tch
and that’s the real
[hook]
[diggs]
that’s where history is made
claiming he the real, but can’t even feel the b-ss
shut your mouth
[verse 4: k!ll rogers]
just coldclocked the motherf-cker who knock
i’m the one who does the knocking
a bold glock in my pocket, it’s c-cked
big as a rock and my c-ck spit up these comets
and fat galaxy b-tches as big as christopher wallace
clutch tight on the leash of my pitbull, she a beast
we called her j
wanted to make a purebred b-tch a police
and i did it
yeah, f-ck it, i did it
inspired not, i am ridic
no, f-ck fine, imma tip it
my .45 is my picket line–live, reboot or relive it
there ain’t no spooking a ghost, dead inside i invented
jesus be walking, but where in holy hopes is he headed
i’m from the west with a rodeo still with homies that’s dreaded
don’t you phonies forget it
pretty boy with a ugly mouth
and a mind riding off in a f-cking two-seater speeding in 405
never minding the meter, chugging a two-liter of wine
high as a tweaker, black b-ttons for eyes, looking like coraline
[hook]
[diggs]
that’s where bullets get sprayed
wanna jump the gun but don’t wanna meet your fate
shut your mouth
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