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lirik lagu remember – the last skeptik

[verse 1: nico lindsay]
yo, remember the years that was wasted?
now trying to exchange all the laziness for payslips
finesse a little, take this, flavour sweet like milkshake
before i sip, shake this, now back to battle with the ages
still seek greatness, even if i reach, seek greater
each track, a new take’s the undertaker
beat meat, vapour, girls love sheets, undertake her
beep, beep, bounce and i’m out still
flow got a mad chill, sneezing on, staying static
i won’t back it, breezing on, speaking on an old me i dislike
meaning gone, bring it back, many times we all wish
that time, we could spin it back, regrets, get rid of that
but do more, resist the fact, act now
to make a new memory and grip on that, sick of all the stalling
you’re in control so better figure that out, alone, gotta stand out
codename lin and sith trim, know the d-mn sound

[verse 2: trim]
yo, it’s on the tip of my tongue, how do i address this
without going over how many kids rolf allegedly molested?
it’s the genie with no lamp and only granting man one death wish
while they claim they’re going h•a•m but can’t write to a beat produced by skeptik
there is no chill, f-ck a netflix
even if nico gave ’em a brush, they couldn’t paint or sketch this
shouts to the constipated mcs
that so scared of my next sh-t, they’re g-ssing to flies
and hope the smell hasn’t manifested
and i ain’t gouged out the eyes of the guys
that you guys call mcs, ha, nah
let’s get it right, this game’s mine and i haven’t left it
squalouring time on the corner acting like i am repping
e14, i’m on a next ting
wait, a neck-next ting, reckless
i can’t fade cause i ain’t that kind of trim
i can’t fade cause i ain’t that kind of trim, wait, did you get this?

[verse 3: funk butcher]
i know cats that’s robbing dogs, no whip it, jiminy cricket
i bat man straight out of stands, cover your wickets
checked it, so solid, so horrid, i wreck this
for the kids on the corners of blocks, cover your necklace
wu-tang said protect this, hold tight skeptik
we go sick, nauseous noise, you go septic
nah, collecting mcs for ps, we don’t sleep
[?] hadouken missed you, but you caught the leg sweep
man like butch on the rap flow, plateau your rap glow
red light your game for fame like your typos
it’s butch, yeah, i’m spitting for the h-ll of it
the devil spit, so i gotta push ’em from the precipice
skeptik, did i take the p-ss?

- the last skeptik

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