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(woman screaming)

I'm obsessed with multiple nude photographs of the beat in my room on the wall
Pondering the verse, fondling my balls
Witness a nigg* who will take rap and chase it
Through an occupied dimly lit staircase and r*pe it
Grab the drums by the waistline (scratches)
I sn*tch the kick, kick the snare, and sodomize the bassline
Never waste time, I give the verse rabies
c*m on the chorus, tell the hook to sw*llow my babies
Maybe I might...switch! Let the witch live
The original plan was to kill the b*tch on the bridge
Ditch the body parts off somewhere near the cresendo
When my innuendos elapse...my nezuenno attacks
The instrumental elapses,
perhaps that's the only reason that I spared her life
You could solo my fkin' vocals and I still get trife
Slice the rhythm...disfigure the face of the groove
For any fader that flies or kn*bs or button that moves

Consider this: the loops are similar to es exposed
On your miss is a hole, a vicious cycle of SIN!
That doesn't end til' I stop fkin'
A million emcees and they ain't sayin' nuttin'

Ain't fkin it right, they ain't fkin' it right
They ain't fkin' it right, they ain't fkin' it right
They ain't fkin' it like...ME.

(scratches)

She had the nerve to take the case to court
knowin' I r*pe for sport
Took the stand cryin' denying her whole involvement, lying
Why would an ex-cop lie in a sex shop, fly linen down grinnin'
With my coat over my shoulder sittin'
Browsin' p*rnography (uhh!),
the stenographer smilin' the whole time
While jotting verbal photography
Her eyes mahogany
I flashed to a photo in my mind of a body bludgeoned with slashed arteries
Pardon me, back to the case, slap in the face
Examinin' the jury similar to cracking a safe
What happens to bass? It was anistic, I would inhale eighths
Sniff that, sat her as* all over my face and taste it
To hell wit' 1980 remixes, fk disco
Turned on the 3000, stuck my d*ck where the disc go
Yokonaz, ripped the sexy MPC 60, buyin' a ticket to hell
Verbally d*ckin' the 12 down, sound s**tty
I knew she used to be pretty
Too many impotent emcees in this God forsaken city

Ain't fkin her right, ain't fkin' her right
Ain't fkin' her like...ME.

Consider this: the loops are similar to es exposed
On your miss is a hole, a vicious cycle of SIN!
That doesn't end til' I stop fkin'
A million emcees and they ain't sayin' nuttin'

Ain't fkin it right, they ain't fkin' it right
They ain't fkin' it right, they ain't fkin' it right
They ain't fkin' it right, they ain't fkin' it right
They ain't fkin' it like...ME.

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Още текстове от Pharoahe Monch