PUMP YOUR BRAKES Lyrics by Deacon Burns of Kounterclockwise (Verse 1) Got a kite mentality on a rainy day when lighting is frightening when Ive been drinking. (Ill) never stop spitting till they put me in my coffin, whether you ignore it or listen. Quick to drain any lyricists essence leaving only an organ-less, boneless, toothless, brainless bag of flesh. Im like metal objects in the microwave punching hot shrapnel in your chest. Venomous lyrics, infected track. No antidote. So I suggest my dude you use the back door. Kounterclockwise in the front, talking loud, smoking blunts, downing shots, getting pumped. The show’s about to start, we tear the stage apart, the trigger got no heart, so be afraid of the dark. Thats when freaks like me wander the streets, looking for beef, so stay at home before we meet. (Chorus) When we ride we ride low. Kicking in your door like POPO. Dont try to run, youre too slow. (You) better pump your brakes, whoa! When we ride we ride low. Kicking in your door like POPO. Dont try to run, youre too slow. better pump your brakes, whoa! (Verse 2) Your organ of hearing; consisting of external, middle, and internal ear Will now embark on this lyrical spark Transmitted throughout the atmosphere MCs better beware of my dysfunctional and unstable mental. Crews get man-handled, left crippled & disabled, like me! Ill deflate your balloon mind-state and ego. Ni**as be short, better stand on your tippy toes. Baby here we go, strap yourselves in. Its about to blow, detonate the C-4. I ignite the mic, pack the pipe, think twice. I dont want no trouble but Ill shoot ya Bit@h! If you dont quit gonna break my foot off in your ass. Ni**a get! This ain’t no threat, its a promise. Im straight up serious. Its about to get dangerous. Chorus: When we ride we ride low. Kicking in your door like POPO. Dont try to run, youre too slow. (You) better pump your brakes, whoa! When we ride we ride low. Kicking in your door like POPO. Dont try to run, youre too slow. better pump your brakes, whoa! (Verse 3) Check one, two, as I rock the mic! Mentally in flight like a string-less kite. Hahahaha! Little ni**a this is fright night and they call me ‘The Count’ with platinum fangs in your jugular veins. Im like a dog with mange when I bite, Yipes! Dr. Strange got you in range, take aim, release the hammer, the bloodstains, the walls, the windows, the ceilings, the floors. Like Whodini I’m a whore ferocious like a lion when I roar. Find me in the ghetto on the corner like a liquor store. My spirit is torn fighting an internal civil war Full of guts and gore. Im a wreck, looking for a place to happen. Im a mess, my bodys all bruised and broken. Theres no rest for the possessed in their coffins. Just death surrounded by stress. Heres the ending… (Chorus) When we ride we ride low. Kicking in your door like POPO. Dont try to run, youre too slow. (You) better pump your brakes, whoa! When we ride we ride low. Kicking in your door like POPO. Dont try to run, youre too slow. Better pump your brakes, whoa! Dont try to run, youre too slow. Better pump your brakes, whoa! Dont try to run, youre too slow. Better pump your brakes, whoa! https://youtube/watch?v=CdioL0Xhcq4
Posted on: Mon, 20 Oct 2014 15:29:01 +0000
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