paroles de chanson Backdraft (feat. Lord Goat & Tone Spliff) - Novatore

I ain't the sickest in the room, we must be in a hospice
Close to death, protect ya neck like you a fuckin' ostrich
Mosh pits, that's what I'm causing when I drop hits
And I ain't talking acid, I'ma god to rap, you not shit
You might've caught Corona but you not sick
And you might be a beast when you alone but you are not this
I'm in the cockpit we dropping bombs like Nagasaki
Homie you could know karate, soul is still gon' leave your body
And I ain't famous but I do what I do
I put a decade in this game and I threw my name in and who is you?
And if I'm knew to you I pray your forgiven
But I'd wager you're in danger of a major incision
Yeah, at 26 I made a major decision
Got dedicated to the way I was fucking living
At 32 I had to pray I'm forgiven
I'll Nеver turn my back on rap but hate the wagе I been given
Sometimes I'm feeling like this place is a prison
Like it's a God given gift but this a waste of a vision
Like I'm a cook who's been displaced from the kitchen
Basically tripping, rearrange your face
And at this pace that I'm ripping
I could write a rhyme in a minute
By design I'm writing lines until my time is infinite
And I ain't believing that the sky is the limit
Cuz this timeline is fine but there'll be nine when its finished yeah
Bloody tablecloths, skulls dripping like cheesy bread
No reasoning, my deli stinking like seasoning
Cadaver stench like rotten pesto, seafood that's lingering
Return of Charlie M, young Tex like Beatles singing it
Like raise the altar, Coffin Syrup the final offer
Engage the body bag before they burn it, then it hits the water
My mind's playing tricks on me, shells in your aorta
In the deli on the scale, wax paper, it takes the orders
Body parts in plastic Boar's Head cases, dirty faces
And deli gloves from the staircases, hair raises
Blast haters, grass tasters, gas and hash blazers
Seen Tuddy out in Vegas burning buds
That's what made me famous
They blew his face all over the dash, you can smell the fragrance
Inverted reverend, put the carpet in the smelly basement
Murder machine, we get the work from the Asians
We pagans, Farragut Road, we dying for the papers