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lirik lagu bop hard (live) – shabazz palaces

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pilgrim marketing plan reb*ttal, take 7

bop bop bop bop bop
the faster the time slows
bop bop bop bop bop
the faster that grip grows

it’s nothing though
we bop hard n*gga
bop hard
bop hard n*gga its a must
to bop hard
bop hard n*gga
in the state we in
bop hard
when theres cake to win
bop hard n*gga
through the sp*ce i’ve been
bop hard
bop hard n*gga

where you coming from with that , show a purpose
some colour, a joke, some hawk sh*t, a swerveness
you slide on slangs invented by the p*mp*sh
ride with the gangs but you won’t never jugg sh*t
funny style aintcha
independent or major ain’t a budget that can save you n*ggas
your talent is to l*st for the lime
but that bus ain’t never on time

so look just fluff into the plush velvet choppers that’s my
i give a f*ck, i always spot a sucker
i grind right so every time i move, it’s a climb
with my black constellation
chocolate cadillac rock it and race it
oh it’s there (where?)
right above the pocket that i stuff my cake in
this talent biz don’t eat pork but cook bacon

somalia, sudan, asalaam aleyk*m
all the hitmongers caught a taste and had to bake ’em

i was baptised in the cheddar church
at us rappers raise they apparatuses, they never work
heavy pain, megahertz, the persona non grata’s in this palace built on sacred dirt
peac*ck swatches of colour off my leathers burst
rosé
wristw*tches whisper time in pleasured verse

i’m laughing cos you copped from jamal
i f*ck with meez and dougie, he will pop at you all
my styles told my ego we will not let you fall
i appreciate that ‘specially when i watch all of y’all
so while you pay to play i make my way
the downest townest round this thing i’m which, it’s safe to say
oh yeah it’s money on the take*away
i’m clowning, you can count this like bronny on a breakaway

n*gga, put your little cake away ‘fore (vash?) come around and show you that you fake today
across badlands i stake my claim, the anti*lame
just seeing us is peeping’ game n*gga

i got fame off my secret names, dis* then re*appeared with something on which to think again
never sloppy so it pop off, you just a replica of a copy of a knockoff
black biz, lost all your fizz and popped your top off
answering to white boys, n*gga, that is not boss

hustle or muscle, struggle or bubble, another regal gunbeat to thug to
it’s inviting me to run heat, i love to
we grounded so we hover just above you in our sound, kid

my shotgun keep it peeled for the cop cars
you takin’ sh*t—not ours
drop guard—never
bop hard, though

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