lirik lagu zvazvinhu – don cavelle
intro:
haa, y’all can’t stop me now…
(got real raps that pill caps on ill tracks)… [x4]
hook:
you can say whatever, but you still a lame…
i’m on my level kicking uptight game…
with no doubt in my brain, i’m still murkin’ them lames…
& when these fake n-gg-s are gone, i shall remain…
know why, coz zvazvinhu, zvazvinhu izvi…
zvazvinhu izvi, zvazvinhu izvi…
ziva zvinhu, zvazvinhu izvi…
zvazvinhu izvi…, zvazvinhu izvi…
verse:
top five, dead or alive around here…
you can sniff a lotta lines, whenever i roc the mic i show no sign of fear…
coz my flow is crack, i biz the subject and the predicate…
got an obsession for progression in this game with no etiquette…
the new kid on the block, finna put this whole game on lock dawg…
i’m so committed, till’ i’m pulling stacks from my sock drawer…
got an honor roll flow, so watch them wh-r-s fall like dominoes…
call me a breath of fresh air i got that fresh talk, stimorols…
the way i’m raising the bar, you’d swear i’m lifting weights…
n-gg-s is talking all kinda beef, all i want is the steak…
i’m talking the cream of the crop, then i dessert them all like steak…
they’ve been sleeping’ on me too long, this the f-cking wake (f-cking wake)…
so asylum alayk-m boy, r.i.p. to my compet-tion…
ten years legend in the make, but still ain’t got no pot to p-ss in…
so gimme that loot, man i came to get what i’m owed…
consider me a bomb threat, been ever ready to blow… whoa!
hook
verse:
i got no time for no slow grinding, i’m exorcising these beats man…
like michael in his prime, i’m cooking heat up in the kitchen…
jackson, jordan, tyson ; no ice on coz i’m hot as well…
bars for years, ain’t no need to lock a n-gg- up in a cell…
coz i’m always on point like a decimal…
so prototypical, your corny raps is kinda miniscule…
get lifted, the game needs a paradigm shift…
these n-gg-s is all talk & no action, i call the politicians…
well i’m ‘bout to go evan on you b-st-rds, break-even with these cl-ssics…
resurrect the game & body you lames…
go ahead and pick a casket…
i’m teaching verbal cl-sses, can’t see you need them urkel gl-sses…
so many punches that my fist hurt…
before you spit my name in a diss verse, i’ll air you out…
like a big lurch, leave you in a he-rs- n-gg-…
your body from spirit, take your -ss to church… preach!
hook
outro
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