Bang Songtext
von Apathy & Celph Titled
Bang Songtext
Yeah, bang bang niggas
(That′s what it is)
This might be the realest shit I ever wrote
(I think so)
Yeah, yo
(What?)
I brought a couple niggas with me
(Some real niggas)
(Say it again)
Some real niggas, O.P.G
(Some real niggas)
I go by the name of Nixon
Uh
(Let's go)
Left check, right check, brass knuckles, knife check
Nine double M, black talons, that′s white check
Sour diesel, purple haze, and candy cologne
Two albums, both classics, my fans is grown
City life ain't nothing like the South, dude
How this nigga run his mouth with a missing tooth?
Three masters, we all got Padawans
Dudes tryna bust heat, we got bag of bombs
Got word that Celph got the South hittin'
Ap′s up top, me, I′m right in the middle
And I got these rappers tryna bite my flow
Lying to their fans like they really getting dough
I'm Richard Pryor in his first movie
I′m a vet, salute me
Rap raw like sushi
We the three hottest niggas in the game now
Cock it back, bang, let it bang now
Bionic, demonic, evolution, pollution of the soul, gold plated
Nickel-plated pistol is located, sedated
Straight jacket, I traffic narcotics, I'm cosmic
Cookie cutter pussy, upper cutter, I′m robotic
Magical when I'm pouring all these potions in the pot
Fucked up from all those years pops smoked pot
Coke and microdots
A sniper on the roof, don′t blink from rifle shots
Ninja Gaiden moves when I scale up walls
Throw Chinese stars when I rhyme these bars
Spit-shine these scars, AP stand large
Leave your head covered red like Van Halen guitars
I'm '80s, kinda like Charles In Charge
New Edition and DeBarge in DeLorean cars
We harvest human bodies like alien farms
And leave cuts on guts but not Caesarean scars
I stay cap peelin′, a rap villain with a cape and a cane
Passenger 57, bringing snakes on a plane
Sit you in the motherfucking exit row seat
Blow the door off, watch you soar off at Testarossa speed
The metronome to my beats erratic like jungle music
I put a hole in your dome, don′t need a gun to do it
Yeah, I'm fucking stupid
The Army of the Gods is certified
I cosign everyone I′m in a group with (Nixon)
I get it popping in here, yes, Redenbacher is here
RoboCop, Clarence Boddicker's here
Seems like everybody scared whenever flying iron disperse
Pipes′ll squirt, now your polo rugby's a Hawaiian shirt
And I insert sharp knives to your chestplate
You will shit without Kaopectate
We don′t spectate opening acts 'cause they probably suck
We slice through your crew, show you how to make a posse cut
(That′s what it is)
This might be the realest shit I ever wrote
(I think so)
Yeah, yo
(What?)
I brought a couple niggas with me
(Some real niggas)
(Say it again)
Some real niggas, O.P.G
(Some real niggas)
I go by the name of Nixon
Uh
(Let's go)
Left check, right check, brass knuckles, knife check
Nine double M, black talons, that′s white check
Sour diesel, purple haze, and candy cologne
Two albums, both classics, my fans is grown
City life ain't nothing like the South, dude
How this nigga run his mouth with a missing tooth?
Three masters, we all got Padawans
Dudes tryna bust heat, we got bag of bombs
Got word that Celph got the South hittin'
Ap′s up top, me, I′m right in the middle
And I got these rappers tryna bite my flow
Lying to their fans like they really getting dough
I'm Richard Pryor in his first movie
I′m a vet, salute me
Rap raw like sushi
We the three hottest niggas in the game now
Cock it back, bang, let it bang now
Bionic, demonic, evolution, pollution of the soul, gold plated
Nickel-plated pistol is located, sedated
Straight jacket, I traffic narcotics, I'm cosmic
Cookie cutter pussy, upper cutter, I′m robotic
Magical when I'm pouring all these potions in the pot
Fucked up from all those years pops smoked pot
Coke and microdots
A sniper on the roof, don′t blink from rifle shots
Ninja Gaiden moves when I scale up walls
Throw Chinese stars when I rhyme these bars
Spit-shine these scars, AP stand large
Leave your head covered red like Van Halen guitars
I'm '80s, kinda like Charles In Charge
New Edition and DeBarge in DeLorean cars
We harvest human bodies like alien farms
And leave cuts on guts but not Caesarean scars
I stay cap peelin′, a rap villain with a cape and a cane
Passenger 57, bringing snakes on a plane
Sit you in the motherfucking exit row seat
Blow the door off, watch you soar off at Testarossa speed
The metronome to my beats erratic like jungle music
I put a hole in your dome, don′t need a gun to do it
Yeah, I'm fucking stupid
The Army of the Gods is certified
I cosign everyone I′m in a group with (Nixon)
I get it popping in here, yes, Redenbacher is here
RoboCop, Clarence Boddicker's here
Seems like everybody scared whenever flying iron disperse
Pipes′ll squirt, now your polo rugby's a Hawaiian shirt
And I insert sharp knives to your chestplate
You will shit without Kaopectate
We don′t spectate opening acts 'cause they probably suck
We slice through your crew, show you how to make a posse cut
Writer(s): Author Unknown Composer, George William Lewis Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
