lirik lagu tim westwood freestyle – denzel curry
[beat 1: scarface’s “guess who’s back”]
[intro]
ready to murder sh-t, tim westwood?
[verse 1]
guess who comin’ out, boy
comin’ out the south, boy
curry known to spit like a draco malfoy
i’m the only n-gga that is fresher than a altoid
everything i drop gon’ be hard as a asteroid
i could be a -ssh0l-, -ssy mcgee is actually me
never trust a b-tch
adam may never come out of eve
you could suck a d-ck
i’m ’bout to get my nuts out and leave
on to other sh-t, callin’ up the mothership
pardon me, pardon me
i departed with my scholarship
heart of a lion, n-ggas be lyin’ to be hard as sh-t
watchin’ them fall offs like the victim of a spartan kick
sit back and feel it, and while these other n-ggas politic
politician, b-tch, i’m pocket-pickin’ ’cause my pot is p-ssin’
try to diss me like you never heard that verse, did on “kristi
yamagucci”, i k!lled that sh-t like i was gucci
never been coochie, the only reason you salute me
sergeant, sergeant! it’s hard, it’s smart, r-t-rded
we chargin’ your audience, my target
we starvin’, i need protein and starches
red carpet, the blood of your favorite artist
it’s carnage when curry spit venom
call the ambulance so they can put some sh-t in him
all they see was n-ggas in some all-black denim
caught another flow because i caught momentum, ah
curry is the feces
sharper than a bee sting
n-gga, i am beasting to a point where i could be sting
n-gga, it’s a meeting
meaning is a you-ting
fantastic four, but for curry is the new thing
back for the mula, put this cris with no luda
i could reach for the sky, tell the stars i’m a shooter
keep my pockets on fupa, cheddar cheese and chalupa
i will hang with my n-ggas, but i ain’t mister cooper
b-tch, my name is the curry
n-ggas scary like scurry
if you want definition, then they move in a hurry
if you waitin’ to serve me, then you must be a waiter
i done came a long way from a godd-mn raider
makin’ godd-mn pla-per—
[interlude]
“plaper”, wait, what the f-ck am i sayin’?
hol’ up, man, switch the beat, switch the beat
[beat 2: raekwon’s “incarcerated scarfaces”]
[verse 2]
what’s the deal? i’m caught up in the pickle, son
while people try to jack me with the nickel, son
the nickel-plate
insinuate all the dough on my dinner plate
it’s hyperactive, makin’ you hyperventilate, uh
stop breathing
got wh0r-s on all fours and four seasons
no more for locked doors, we all greasin’
when you in a room full of gods, so pledge allegiance
baby, open your cleavage, uh
on to cleveland, i’m off to brown
and i might swerve my words, and i swerve my nouns
renounced, when i used to smoke a ounce and bounce
way back, way before i had a bank account
i had one, two, three, four
five, six, seven, eight pennies in my pocket
actin’ like the hot sh-t
knowin’ d-mn well that a n-gga ain’t got sh-t
strictly for my n-ggas, way before i’m on that ‘pac sh-t
that was way back, like, where my slaves at
way before ross even had a maybach
the cars, the jewels, the hoes don’t impress me
flashin’ lights, and looking like it’s epilepsy
i ball like pistols when you wanna be a piston
f-ck your wrist, i’d rather go and put my fist in
put your fist pump rather than a fist bump
i get the ski mask and watch your gods get slumped
ain’t no false prophets, counterfeits and false profits
came through and you know i be the hot topic
curry is the n-gga on the knowledge, i drop sh-t
denzel and you know i came through, i pop sh-t
the uzis and moves in rooms like the yakuza
far from losers, more like penny abusers
money young, money on my mind, i’m
sunny, sunny, sunny, let me shine, rise
risin’ on the motherf-ckin’ east like the islam
i don’t really give a f-ck, they lookin’ like, “who is him?”
n-gga came through with the motherf-ckin’ ism
like racism, or s-xism, i texting ’em
that motherf-ckin’ knowledge i drop
denzel, motherf-cka, on the sh-t i pop
i skate like a motherf-ckin’ figure 8
if a n-gga wanna talk about a dinner date
you don’t want this, you don’t want that
you don’t want that, i came through
motherf-cker, yeah, i gotta go back
with the throwback, like a motherf-ckin’ seventy
came through with the motherf-ckin’ telepathy
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