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lirik lagu 38 special – n8! (aka !llumin@te)


!llumin@te * “38 special”
[emcee(s): !llumin@te]
[producer(s): h2 (aka djh2 / halo) {original instrumental from h2 * “time’s up”}]

[verse 1: !llumin@te]
yo! yo!
oh, the humanity. the circle of life
is used to open up a can of beans, opened up
a can of worms, another manmade disease. says “made in china”
but the label ain’t in cantonese. can it be
we’re being lied to? broken supply routes. i never
knew that toilet paper’s the key to survival—it’s not
but get your roll on. wood root clean your colon
it’s like the 45th time that i’m watching frozen
hold on! i still can’t let it go. like a
tootsie pop, thе world may never know, so do the toosiе slide
while essential workers either do or die. i ain’t
shaved in five weeks, i ask the mirror, “who am i?”
sim simma rocking the same beenie
trying to crack the code like a game genie, rocking all
black camouflage so the grim reaper can’t see me
rocking a black mask just ain’t easy, the game’s greasy
like four chicken wings fried hard, fried
rice, no vegetables, and, my god, my heart
aches. i saw a wake through zoom and a
meme that was way too soon. it’s a new
moon in taurus. usually, this is where i would
give you the chorus. i’m breaking out the maze like dolores
not delores c. tucker but the man
in machine, queen mother, dream*hunters
you can probably tell i’m collard*green*colored
i’m just the oldest son out of three brothers
if there’s a glitch in the matrix, i can see numbers
we’re overmatched, still scr*pping like 300
i need an o.g. emoji
#girldad, my little pony
i will do anything for my little homie
rest in peace to gigi and kobe
long live mamba mentality
married my baby mama, she ain’t mad at me. it’s happily
ever after. the sacrifice, happy wife, happy life
it’s only common sense—that’s the light in this
dark age of information. i keep checking if my
bank account was stimulated, feeling impatient
patients overflowing, no ventilators. how can i
write these rhymes without a pen a paper? it’s jimmy jam
and terry lewis, rhythm nation. [?]
[?] rhythm of creation, sh*t is innate
give me some sp*ce—at least six feet. i’ll be
sick ‘til i’m six feet deep—that’s on
god, on the gang, on the kids that you claim, on the
chick on the side that you bang, that’s on the
day i was born to the day that i’m gone to the
way that i let my nuts hang. it feels special
like a 38. i guess i had to wait to 38
to have the whole world saying, “i heard he’s great”