Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Som


Interface


Nível de dificuldade


Sotaque



Interface de linguagem

pt

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Política de cookies   |   Suporte   |   FAQ
1
cadastre-se / faça login
Lyrkit

doar

5$

Lyrkit

doar

10$

Lyrkit

doar

20$

Lyrkit

E/ou me apoie nas redes sociais. redes:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Chris Webby

Paparazzi

 

Paparazzi

(álbum: Optimus Rhyme Mixtape - 2010)


[Intro:]
Ha, 2010, Chris Webby
DJ Whoo Kidd
Yo, it's that real shit
Uh, Uh

[Verse:]
You couldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole
Nobody near to this, I'm serious, ripping the mic 'til I'm delirious
And I don't do it for the glamour and the glitz
I do it because I love it and I'm handling my shit
But there's some dudes doing it for all the wrong reasons
Spit nonsense, think there the hottest thing breathing
Ignoring all the real MC's who don't even
Have enough pocket change to break even
I'm steaming, tearing it down 'til I'm leaving
Music running in my veins, even in my semen
Webby straight hungry, somebody should feed him
Before I got nuts, cause a motherfucking scene and
End up locked up again and fucking spend
My last penny on bail so fuck it then
Lyrically, your everyday rapper can't touch me
But rap's full of dudes with no talent it disgusts me
Trust me, I can drop names, make it get ugly
But that's just how it is, some people get lucky
Souljia Boy's fifth grade vocal gets played
On the radio so much you think it was dope as
Jigga, Nas, Eminem, Busta, Fab
Jadakiss, Ludacris, maybe Lupe Fias
Co, rap mode, clever and intelligent
The hottest in New England and ain't nobody forgetting it
I'm showing y'all that hip hop exists in Connecticut
I'm picture perfect I just somebody to develop it
Right now I can't even afford a gym membership
Even though I rap with undeniable eloquence
I stay true to my roots and I know where I'm from
I don't front on no one, don't talk about having funds
Don't talk about slinging crack, don't talk about shooting guns
Don't talk about being hard, I talk about having fun
I'm second to none, something the world has never seen
Making music is in my genes, like a pocket and seams
Rocking the screen of any fucking camera that's in front of me
So deep, underground that my tunnel be
Down with the dinosaur bones, grimy
I need a paleontologist just to find me
So complex every listener rewinds me
But it's my extensive vocab that defines me
I be pumping hip hop through an IV
Nobody else unsigned could out-grind me
No Ash Roth clone drop rhymes off dome
Just a rapscallion rocking the skull and crossbones
I'm a young cat coming out 21
Won't stop 'til I decide that I am fucking done
And that'll be never
The future of hip hop, bitch, it's Chris Webster

[Outro:]
Well, it is bitch
What it is bitch
It's real hip hop
Get your bars up, bitches
And we out
J-Cash, what up
Timmy, what up
Yeah, yeah

feito

Você adicionou todas as palavras desconhecidas dessa música?