lirik lagu radio – sourmouth
[verse 1: sourmouth]
me and my niggas so official
making moves is not an issue
we the ones with the whistle
running shit like a treadmill
theres guns in the rose city
thats heavy metal, we the
thorns outa portland stingen
foes like nettle, dope we push
and peddle like a bicycle peddle
flows cold but im hot i got
dry ice in my mental, ya roll
with the cons the pro’s ain’t
got no schedual, im my own
boss just like tony saprano
catch krauss in his flannel
al boarland with a tan, the new
tool man tune in ta home
invasion, raised caucasian on
28th and mason, im just sayen
i knew one or 2 racists, yall
ancient like the mayans rhymes
in hyroglifical sign’s, nigga
albert einstien couldn’t decipher
your lines, shit i got my cipher’s
right down to a science mc equals
me no square i am the flyest
im a pilot, the mile high pussy
pile driver, she cryen when i
push it just look at her eye-liner
they forget they boyfriends
when i hit alzheimer’s, she cut
a nigga up like a fence with barbed
wire, a west-sider a ridder
a fighter i got back, whenever
theirs a clash we come together
like crash, i got more back then a
fucken back-pack, so back back
before my pack come back
god dam your raps wak, they
give you a bad rap, niggas get
put on blast i do business with
nasa, huston theres a problem
get your masks on pullen caper’s
ok’d from cape canaveral, and im
on my own im grown, leave me
the fuck alone i ain’t e.t. i don’t
need to phone home, qb runnin
and moneys the end zone
leaving foes bl–dy’d and stenciled
call it the red zone, im getting my
cash right i bubble like gl-ss pipes
colored like highlights, hot as a
fire-fight, she do anything like
she want a klondike, anything
like american pies prom night
my goal is a winner yours is to
be a quitter, im a poet tellin
riddles of importance to my
niggas, kick back enjoy a 40 wit
ya nigga, i laced these tracks
sowing my nigga, ok best friend
ben last name franklin, bend down
to the ground girl touch your
anklet, grind hard like them niggas
fresh off of a slave shit, she got
meat on them thy’s her legs are
angus, i can’t live without my radio
ll, mentally ill like radio i need help
just plane psycho like the bates
motel, p i need my radio like a shank in jail
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