paroles de chanson Matador - P.O.S

I feel like a matador chasing bull in the china shop
A matador chasing bull in the china shop
A matador chasing bull in the china shop
One plate breaks another gets put right in its place

I was a fiend
I used to twist bags of trees
Yous a bitch, I′d rather smack you with a bag of bees
We watch you scream, mark it up, as a casualty
Planet hit. And walk away casually
I'm on some shit. I′m losing it gradually
I'm a bastard with no father and no family
A overlord, stab niggas with a rusty sword
You still born, choke off the umbilical cord
You got rocks and I'm standing in a glass house
It′s your move but instead these niggas pass out
You ain′t built for this, living in your mom's house
Claiming you gangster, but you chaps with the ass out
Let′s keep it real when it's time to get gully
There′s no part time, commit to it fully
That means disconnect from kids and reality
I'm in town but I′m treated like I'm over seas
Let's get stupid, ignorant, to the utmost
That means anywhere anytime the [?]
Rap battles used to be where you walk and live
It got gruesome now they talkin′ bout your mom and kids
I′ve lived the life. Seen niggas truly lose they life
I made the sacrifice, left in the nick of time
With drive-bys in broad daylight now is that right?
If it's on I can′t return to my normal life
I've seen niggas that I know [?]
Flip the script and get thugged in their street clothes
Now I ask is it real or just actin?
Or getting punked all your life and start snappin′
It ain't a problem till it′s made mine
Face paint, grab your helmet, cause it's game time
I'm a cool calm nigga and I know where my power is
I know my weakness and what I can kill it with

Alright the damage to your ego is a stepping stool for self-respect and shoes
And split the seam with a tube sock full of hemlock
Sippin′ Kirin Ichiban seein′ CNN is on. Peepin patriot actually lower class fuck-a-thon
See, I went from poverty to lower lower class, to lower class, to upper lower class
And getting past the bullshit. Same fucking pants and skipping class no bullshit
Punk Rock Living, The Clash, and Misfit
Mr. Meticulous, slick and sick with the syllabus
Spittin' the dust and polish it enough to keep em listening to us
Precision is a plus. But honesty′s a must
[?] beat the speakers till they bust, through
We got style that's rust proof. Flat black over tar mat, handle grips
You mother fuckers need a nap. You know you toss and turnin′ trying to sleep on me so cut the crap. It happens every time
I swear if I had a dime! See, I'm looking for peace of mind
You lookin′ for a dime piece, to give you mind
You're on some bad dad shit.
You ain't for real yous an echo like some bunny men
I pressed on, I′m beat harder than step-songs
I treat father like I′m each one of his left sons
A whole lotta nada. My souls hella hotta
Stay loaded like cannon fodder aim it at you prima donnas
I oughta slap the fucking face off your head
I play the matador instead

I feel like a matador chasing bull in the china shop
A matador chasing bull in the china shop
A matador chasing bull in the china shop
One plate breaks another gets put right in its place