lirik lagu backdraft ft. lord goat – novatore
[verse 1]: novatore
i ain’t the sickest in the room we must be in a hospice
close to death, protect ya neck like you a f*cking ostrich
mosh pits, that’s what i’m causing when i drop hits
and i ain’t talking acid, ima god to rap, you not sh*t
you might’ve caught corona but you not sick
and you might be a beast when you alone but you are not this
i’m in the c*ckpit we dropping bombs like nagasaki
homie you could know karate, soul is still gon’ leave your body
and i ain’t famous but i do what i do
i put a decade in this game and i threw my name in and who is you?
and if i’m knew to you i pray your forgiven
but i’d wager you’re in danger of a major incision
(yea) at 26 i made a major decision
got dedicatеd to the way i was f*cking living
at 32 i had to pray i’m forgiven
i’ll nevеr turn my back on rap but hate the wage i been given (ugh)
sometimes i’m feeling like this place is a prison
like it’s a god given gift but this a waste of a vision
like i’m a cook who’s been displaced from the kitchen
basically tripping, i’ll rearrange your face
and at this pace that i’m ripping (god d*mn), i could write a rhyme in a minute
by design i’m writing lines until my time is infinite
and i ain’t believing that the sky is the limit
cuz this timeline is fine but there’ll be nine when its finished, yea
[verse 2]: lord goat
bl**dy tablecloths skulls dripping like cheesy bread
no reasoning my deli stinking like seasoning
cadaver stench like rotten pesto, seafood that’s lingering
return of charlie m, young tex like beatles singing it
like raise the altar, coffin syrup the final offer
engage the body bag before they burn it then it hits the water
my mind’s playing tricks on me, sh*lls in your aorta
in the deli on the scale, wax paper, it takes the orders
body parts in plastic boars head cases, dirty faces
and deli gloves from the stair cases, hair raises
blast haters, grass tasters, gas and hash blazers
seen tuti out in vegas burning burning buds
that’s what made me famous
they blew his face all over the dash, you can smell the fragrance
inverted reverend but the carpet in the smelly bas*m*nt
murder machine we get the work from the asians
we pagans, farragut road we dying for the papers
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