Esse verso acabou comigo em 2014, pesado de mais e repleto de metáforas... My rap’s scary, it escaped from my Blackberry Your rap stays trapped, it’s fake and imaginary My rap full of guts and bad vocabulary My rap has drug tracks and blood capillaries It’s all cemetery, turn about mortuaries I ain’t saying anything out of the ordinary Not unusual, it’s the cult itinerary Attending funerals with a dull contemporary Whether it’s putting you in blind sense but never necessary Gun straightened paper better than a secretary With just one shot turn a jock into a Jerry The Glock said we carry, turn The Rock into a fairy Murder for no reason other than monetary The devil made me do it, it’s involuntary I keep clips and new papers obituaries Behind a bookcase with a trick dictionary
Posted on: Sun, 04 Jan 2015 23:43:27 +0000
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