Get U Awn
Quelle: Spotify
Intro: (Masta Ace)
Yeah, one two
It’s Masta Ace, Punchline, Chords (yea)
Uhu, uhu, yeah
Check it
Vers 1: (Masta Ace)
My plan and intention, be the man of invention
To spit shit and make ya’ll stand at attention
If I can I’m lynchin’ every cat in the game
Whether he’s lackin’ the fame or got a platinum name
See I’m cool like a fridge when I’m under pressure
A lot of rappers on ice but none are fresher
I don’t see why wanna step inside the ring
That’s worse than Eddie Murphy when he try to sing
So you ain’t got no chance in a victory lap
I don’t feel that shit you tryin’ to kick to me cat
So you keep on rappin’ about them furs and minks
I heard your little single every version stinks
The remix, the accapella, the instrumental
It’s so sad that I’m ‘bout to get sentimental
I’mma shit in your toilette, leave your ass a floeter
Cause my song still bubble like a glass of soda
Chorus:
We want, it’s on, shit come on
It’s a sick song, spit bombs, get you awn
(Cuts courtesy of Dj Amato)
Vers 2: (Punchline)
I suggest when I’m live on the set, don’t test
Y’all cats be careful, I’m careless
I show no remorse when I spit on your squad
I’m such a cold ass nigga that my nipples are hard, check it
That spotlight y’all ain’t ‘posed to have it
I grab it and son y’all cats like foster parents
I come through, you vacate your own turf
I’m Punchline, same guy that rocks with Wordsworth
Give me a slut that fucks and a new Benz truck
Make it a 4-door I’m tired of being cooped up
My whole crew’s ruff in Timbs and Nike fitted
After this year I’ll retire my mic like the Wizards
Keep your distance, come close and you’re a goner
I spit hot shit and turn booths into saunas
I play the corner I’m a young a street performer
I warned ya, I smoke weed I’m bi-polar
Chorus:
We want, it’s on, shit come on
It’s a sick song, spit bombs, get you awn
(Cuts courtesy of Dj Amato)
Vers 3: (Chords)
Dawg, I don’t need a crew, we can mano-a-mano
Guaranteed I’ll leave you looking like Ronald McDonald
And there’s no use in kissing my ass
You couldn’t get a line in my hook if you was fishing for bass
Mystery man, popped up, split you in half
Taking the whole thing back like history class
True emceeing, shit man I’m European
But most people don’t believe I’m a human being
I snack on rappers like they’re apple jacks
Cause everything they know is a Snapple fact
Conveyor belt, I do it back to back
Kick em and pass em like a hackysack
Plus my lung size will bring out the midget in you
I smoke bongs the size of a didgeridoo
Passed most you assholes with a single or two
You’re not a rapper just because you’re wearing Timberland boots (hell naw)
Like I said, shit I bless the cabbage
Til people on the street think I’m Fester Addams
And my face shrivels up like California prunes
Women still faint when I storm the room
It must be the natural charm
I guess my mother had a gene and just passed it along
So after I’m gone you can drink the pain away
While I drive home thru a tinker tape parade, bitch!
Chorus:
We want, it’s on, shit come on
It’s a sick song, spit bombs, get you awn
(Cuts courtesy of Dj Amato)
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