deficet, I've got the bedroom eyes I've the storms in my head, I've got my telephone voice I've got to make a decision of whether I live or die I'd rather
attention deficet, I've got the bedroom eyes I've the storms in my head, I've got my telephone voice I've got to make a decision of whether I live or
Preklad: Atmosféra. Zadarmo alebo mŕtvy.
got attention deficet, I've got the bedroom eyes I've the storms in my head, I've got my telephone voice I've got to make a decision of whether I live or
at least seven figures to even touch that But since everybody was underestimatin my format I dropped Ill Bomb and now niggas want more of that Aint a rapper dead or
Metropolis creates mob and mob creates its face Megalopolis builds barriers, you die under their stress The mob creates its atmosphere: Bitches, drugs
anticipated But, fuck, it doesn't matter. Put your fists up and instigate it And they can't save the planet Or the children or the bandits Or themselves
of it We're just two dogs on all fours It's a tug of war for who loves you more Blame it on tours or locked bathroom doors or maybe it's 'cause my voice
Now I won't have to flee or fight alone The microphone: that's my weapon and I'm on a quest for Heaven Or rent me some comprehension It's busy as fuck
grew some extra personality now i wont have to flee or fight alone the microphone thats my weapon and im on a quest for heaven or rent me some comprehension
demons do you have to strangle How much longer must you remain in this dream Before I finally figure out if you're insane or a genius How many times
hell, We're only destroying ourselves, Religion gets its way, so God has his say, And the Holy propaganda is free ... He WHO IS! WHO WAS! and is coming
just live now, perhaps regret later Don't call me atheist, I do believe that God's greater But is it in you, or is it in me Or maybe just he, defines
, try it, getting fat? then you better ched it, Ab-swing, blue blocker, Tupac or Biggy, East coast, west coast, Fat Joe or fifty, Thatcher the shifty
down and observe my lyrics The atmospheres of organism we apparently living Since the beginning, The Law of Three, The Law of Seven On question, the principle of scale or
need at least seven figures to even touch that But since everybody was underestimatin my format I dropped Ill Bomb and now niggas want more of that Aint a rapper dead or
hell, We're only destroying ourselves, Religion gets its way, so God has his say, And the Holy propaganda is free... He WHO IS! WHO IS! and is coming
