616 Rewind Lyrics
| Song | 616 Rewind |
| Artist | Cunninlynguists |
| Album | Will Rap for Food |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Celph Titled ... | |
| Yo, first I sprinkle a verse | |
| By adding words, rhymes | |
| Flippin' 'em in to a verse with lines | |
| Then i'ma hit 'em with spurts rhyme | |
| Then i'ma let 'em and split 'em and add | |
| Feelin' my wrath | |
| Vagrantly depart to the south so dirty | |
| You want to be given a bath | |
| Give it a pathological lie to deny that i'm nice | |
| And the truth hurts (ow) | |
| Wearin' a blue shirt the best buy for the price | |
| Figure, Six guys this live and nice on the mic | |
| So don't dis us because we're fly, | |
| Until you try what it's like | |
| I'm liable to Slice at these emcee bastards | |
| Leaving their knees fractured | |
| Needing every piece of their teeth re-crafted | |
| So don't front 'cause I see past it | |
| You're harmless like wolverines adamantium claws | |
| When they're retracted | |
| The scene's backlit, | |
| It seems static will wreak havoc | |
| A beat battered, I'll keep rappin' | |
| In leech battle, will dreams shatter | |
| In three nanoseconds (damn) | |
| Count your patients, One step to Tonedeff | |
| You're gone in sixty seconds like Nicholas Cage is | |
| [Deacon] | |
| I leave you riddled with basics | |
| There's no need for complexity | |
| To be beside myself I need God next to me | |
| Just kiddin' | |
| I'm partially bull shittin' | |
| The only time I take a loss pussy's | |
| When I lose kittens | |
| I pitch shit past 'ya, no matter who's hittin' | |
| I don't capsize boats, | |
| But I got crews flippin' | |
| You catch it? the message needs analyzation | |
| Step and your boys will be pouring alcoholic libations | |
| I flew sick, you knew this | |
| I'll puzzle you, doofus | |
| Fuck mental | |
| In the stretcher went to a physical Rubix | |
| It will take more than stick to rearrange it then change it | |
| His language is so strange, how do we contain it? | |
| You can't just paint this stuff up on a canvas | |
| You have to get the mental picture | |
| To begin to understand this | |
| So, Anticipate defeat, the league chances | |
| Got your head speared, no lances | |
| Doing burial dances | |
| [sankofa] | |
| I'm giving forty like with speech imediments | |
| Each other threat causes confident cats to stutter, | |
| Step caught a reputation down the sides: | |
| Too raw for porn overdubs, plates of leftovers | |
| Eat some warmed over | |
| Thug's a jaded wordsmith, | |
| Bleeding ghost writer's pen's dry | |
| Get on other rapper's nerves | |
| Corroding dead, dried sweat | |
| My thoughts connect, | |
| You ought to step away fast, | |
| It seems I gave cats "hey that's the way they make tracks" | |
| Forget a scare, I'm not generous, kid | |
| Split society of (?) and indented in (?) | |
| Independently sick | |
| And this is just a quick reminder | |
| If you was to pick a cipher | |
| Then I'll bust you quick to Rikers | |
| All expenses paid, no questions asked | |
| I'll get open in the cut and we can flesh your gash | |
| Cat, relax. Man, the last time I took a breather | |
| I got brought up on murder charges | |
| Start the crooked finger | |
| [Kno] | |
| Yo, I'm not the fella to riff with | |
| I'm so nice Mr. Rogers sued my ass | |
| Roll with henchmen, | |
| Not, we'll switch heads | |
| From wanna be thugs to 24/7 bitch kids | |
| Topping my shitlist | |
| Production cat bastards want jiggy beats | |
| For some whack rappers | |
| Switch my style if you're tryin' to play, | |
| My beats will maraud your ass any time of day | |
| Like Deuce Bigalow's chick, | |
| Whenever your through shit | |
| People see you and holler "That's one huge bitch!" | |
| Shit, when the LP rolls out | |
| The source will be forced to make the quotables | |
| A three page fold-out | |
| No doubt, I'm fed up with this whack shit | |
| Ballin the next gear, wearing Abercrombie and Fitch | |
| Any Jiggy rapper acting fly on the radio | |
| Is getting pulled out of rotation like a Firestone radial | |
| [Kashal Tee] | |
| Kashal Tee, the hip hop scene I fathom | |
| Let people know my windows belt keeps my jeans from sagging | |
| It seems I'm raggin, | |
| But fiends been naggin' for my next release | |
| I apply all my expertise to make them extra pleased | |
| Even get the breaks to peace that make a brother feel this | |
| All I do is independent, like double helix | |
| Selling out? well I hope that you're not | |
| But how else could you afford all the soap that you drop? | |
| You can't fuck wit me, yo, kid look | |
| Taking me out ain't no small feat, you ain't bigfoot | |
| You should know who the heck you're facing | |
| 'cause my reputation leaves no room for speculation | |
| Now battle, is that you want to do? | |
| What kind of man are you? | |
| I bet you sit on a urinal too | |
| Now that it's proven to you | |
| You got a lot to tell us, | |
| Them got your heart skipping beats like acappellas | |
| [Celph-titled] | |
| I'll be a mythic author, | |
| Writing poems on tombstones | |
| Celph-titled and, nigga you couldn't bring home | |
| I'm at the crib wit your bitch givin' me slow head | |
| Split you up in more pieces than when Jesus broke bread | |
| My click is raw, be prepared when you meet us | |
| Kill an unborn baby and you still couldn't de-fetus (ooh) | |
| I don't battle with rhymes, | |
| I'd rather battle with nines | |
| Instead of using my mind | |
| I'd rather shatter your spine | |
| The closest you ever came to a punch line, | |
| Was waiting for refreshments at the prom in '89 | |
| I'm super crafty, super nasty, super rhaspy | |
| Fuckin' bitches with super asscheeks | |
| You fucking faggots don't know the raw speeches | |
| I beat a bitch untill her whole body turns to cleavage | |
| I'm hyperactive so I drink decaffeinated | |
| My left jab is fatal, leave your cats decapitated! |
| zuo qu : Celph Titled ... | |
| Yo, first I sprinkle a verse | |
| By adding words, rhymes | |
| Flippin' ' em in to a verse with lines | |
| Then i' ma hit ' em with spurts rhyme | |
| Then i' ma let ' em and split ' em and add | |
| Feelin' my wrath | |
| Vagrantly depart to the south so dirty | |
| You want to be given a bath | |
| Give it a pathological lie to deny that i' m nice | |
| And the truth hurts ow | |
| Wearin' a blue shirt the best buy for the price | |
| Figure, Six guys this live and nice on the mic | |
| So don' t dis us because we' re fly, | |
| Until you try what it' s like | |
| I' m liable to Slice at these emcee bastards | |
| Leaving their knees fractured | |
| Needing every piece of their teeth recrafted | |
| So don' t front ' cause I see past it | |
| You' re harmless like wolverines adamantium claws | |
| When they' re retracted | |
| The scene' s backlit, | |
| It seems static will wreak havoc | |
| A beat battered, I' ll keep rappin' | |
| In leech battle, will dreams shatter | |
| In three nanoseconds damn | |
| Count your patients, One step to Tonedeff | |
| You' re gone in sixty seconds like Nicholas Cage is | |
| Deacon | |
| I leave you riddled with basics | |
| There' s no need for complexity | |
| To be beside myself I need God next to me | |
| Just kiddin' | |
| I' m partially bull shittin' | |
| The only time I take a loss pussy' s | |
| When I lose kittens | |
| I pitch shit past ' ya, no matter who' s hittin' | |
| I don' t capsize boats, | |
| But I got crews flippin' | |
| You catch it? the message needs analyzation | |
| Step and your boys will be pouring alcoholic libations | |
| I flew sick, you knew this | |
| I' ll puzzle you, doofus | |
| Fuck mental | |
| In the stretcher went to a physical Rubix | |
| It will take more than stick to rearrange it then change it | |
| His language is so strange, how do we contain it? | |
| You can' t just paint this stuff up on a canvas | |
| You have to get the mental picture | |
| To begin to understand this | |
| So, Anticipate defeat, the league chances | |
| Got your head speared, no lances | |
| Doing burial dances | |
| sankofa | |
| I' m giving forty like with speech imediments | |
| Each other threat causes confident cats to stutter, | |
| Step caught a reputation down the sides: | |
| Too raw for porn overdubs, plates of leftovers | |
| Eat some warmed over | |
| Thug' s a jaded wordsmith, | |
| Bleeding ghost writer' s pen' s dry | |
| Get on other rapper' s nerves | |
| Corroding dead, dried sweat | |
| My thoughts connect, | |
| You ought to step away fast, | |
| It seems I gave cats " hey that' s the way they make tracks" | |
| Forget a scare, I' m not generous, kid | |
| Split society of ? and indented in ? | |
| Independently sick | |
| And this is just a quick reminder | |
| If you was to pick a cipher | |
| Then I' ll bust you quick to Rikers | |
| All expenses paid, no questions asked | |
| I' ll get open in the cut and we can flesh your gash | |
| Cat, relax. Man, the last time I took a breather | |
| I got brought up on murder charges | |
| Start the crooked finger | |
| Kno | |
| Yo, I' m not the fella to riff with | |
| I' m so nice Mr. Rogers sued my ass | |
| Roll with henchmen, | |
| Not, we' ll switch heads | |
| From wanna be thugs to 24 7 bitch kids | |
| Topping my shitlist | |
| Production cat bastards want jiggy beats | |
| For some whack rappers | |
| Switch my style if you' re tryin' to play, | |
| My beats will maraud your ass any time of day | |
| Like Deuce Bigalow' s chick, | |
| Whenever your through shit | |
| People see you and holler " That' s one huge bitch!" | |
| Shit, when the LP rolls out | |
| The source will be forced to make the quotables | |
| A three page foldout | |
| No doubt, I' m fed up with this whack shit | |
| Ballin the next gear, wearing Abercrombie and Fitch | |
| Any Jiggy rapper acting fly on the radio | |
| Is getting pulled out of rotation like a Firestone radial | |
| Kashal Tee | |
| Kashal Tee, the hip hop scene I fathom | |
| Let people know my windows belt keeps my jeans from sagging | |
| It seems I' m raggin, | |
| But fiends been naggin' for my next release | |
| I apply all my expertise to make them extra pleased | |
| Even get the breaks to peace that make a brother feel this | |
| All I do is independent, like double helix | |
| Selling out? well I hope that you' re not | |
| But how else could you afford all the soap that you drop? | |
| You can' t fuck wit me, yo, kid look | |
| Taking me out ain' t no small feat, you ain' t bigfoot | |
| You should know who the heck you' re facing | |
| ' cause my reputation leaves no room for speculation | |
| Now battle, is that you want to do? | |
| What kind of man are you? | |
| I bet you sit on a urinal too | |
| Now that it' s proven to you | |
| You got a lot to tell us, | |
| Them got your heart skipping beats like acappellas | |
| Celphtitled | |
| I' ll be a mythic author, | |
| Writing poems on tombstones | |
| Celphtitled and, nigga you couldn' t bring home | |
| I' m at the crib wit your bitch givin' me slow head | |
| Split you up in more pieces than when Jesus broke bread | |
| My click is raw, be prepared when you meet us | |
| Kill an unborn baby and you still couldn' t defetus ooh | |
| I don' t battle with rhymes, | |
| I' d rather battle with nines | |
| Instead of using my mind | |
| I' d rather shatter your spine | |
| The closest you ever came to a punch line, | |
| Was waiting for refreshments at the prom in ' 89 | |
| I' m super crafty, super nasty, super rhaspy | |
| Fuckin' bitches with super asscheeks | |
| You fucking faggots don' t know the raw speeches | |
| I beat a bitch untill her whole body turns to cleavage | |
| I' m hyperactive so I drink decaffeinated | |
| My left jab is fatal, leave your cats decapitated! |
| zuò qǔ : Celph Titled ... | |
| Yo, first I sprinkle a verse | |
| By adding words, rhymes | |
| Flippin' ' em in to a verse with lines | |
| Then i' ma hit ' em with spurts rhyme | |
| Then i' ma let ' em and split ' em and add | |
| Feelin' my wrath | |
| Vagrantly depart to the south so dirty | |
| You want to be given a bath | |
| Give it a pathological lie to deny that i' m nice | |
| And the truth hurts ow | |
| Wearin' a blue shirt the best buy for the price | |
| Figure, Six guys this live and nice on the mic | |
| So don' t dis us because we' re fly, | |
| Until you try what it' s like | |
| I' m liable to Slice at these emcee bastards | |
| Leaving their knees fractured | |
| Needing every piece of their teeth recrafted | |
| So don' t front ' cause I see past it | |
| You' re harmless like wolverines adamantium claws | |
| When they' re retracted | |
| The scene' s backlit, | |
| It seems static will wreak havoc | |
| A beat battered, I' ll keep rappin' | |
| In leech battle, will dreams shatter | |
| In three nanoseconds damn | |
| Count your patients, One step to Tonedeff | |
| You' re gone in sixty seconds like Nicholas Cage is | |
| Deacon | |
| I leave you riddled with basics | |
| There' s no need for complexity | |
| To be beside myself I need God next to me | |
| Just kiddin' | |
| I' m partially bull shittin' | |
| The only time I take a loss pussy' s | |
| When I lose kittens | |
| I pitch shit past ' ya, no matter who' s hittin' | |
| I don' t capsize boats, | |
| But I got crews flippin' | |
| You catch it? the message needs analyzation | |
| Step and your boys will be pouring alcoholic libations | |
| I flew sick, you knew this | |
| I' ll puzzle you, doofus | |
| Fuck mental | |
| In the stretcher went to a physical Rubix | |
| It will take more than stick to rearrange it then change it | |
| His language is so strange, how do we contain it? | |
| You can' t just paint this stuff up on a canvas | |
| You have to get the mental picture | |
| To begin to understand this | |
| So, Anticipate defeat, the league chances | |
| Got your head speared, no lances | |
| Doing burial dances | |
| sankofa | |
| I' m giving forty like with speech imediments | |
| Each other threat causes confident cats to stutter, | |
| Step caught a reputation down the sides: | |
| Too raw for porn overdubs, plates of leftovers | |
| Eat some warmed over | |
| Thug' s a jaded wordsmith, | |
| Bleeding ghost writer' s pen' s dry | |
| Get on other rapper' s nerves | |
| Corroding dead, dried sweat | |
| My thoughts connect, | |
| You ought to step away fast, | |
| It seems I gave cats " hey that' s the way they make tracks" | |
| Forget a scare, I' m not generous, kid | |
| Split society of ? and indented in ? | |
| Independently sick | |
| And this is just a quick reminder | |
| If you was to pick a cipher | |
| Then I' ll bust you quick to Rikers | |
| All expenses paid, no questions asked | |
| I' ll get open in the cut and we can flesh your gash | |
| Cat, relax. Man, the last time I took a breather | |
| I got brought up on murder charges | |
| Start the crooked finger | |
| Kno | |
| Yo, I' m not the fella to riff with | |
| I' m so nice Mr. Rogers sued my ass | |
| Roll with henchmen, | |
| Not, we' ll switch heads | |
| From wanna be thugs to 24 7 bitch kids | |
| Topping my shitlist | |
| Production cat bastards want jiggy beats | |
| For some whack rappers | |
| Switch my style if you' re tryin' to play, | |
| My beats will maraud your ass any time of day | |
| Like Deuce Bigalow' s chick, | |
| Whenever your through shit | |
| People see you and holler " That' s one huge bitch!" | |
| Shit, when the LP rolls out | |
| The source will be forced to make the quotables | |
| A three page foldout | |
| No doubt, I' m fed up with this whack shit | |
| Ballin the next gear, wearing Abercrombie and Fitch | |
| Any Jiggy rapper acting fly on the radio | |
| Is getting pulled out of rotation like a Firestone radial | |
| Kashal Tee | |
| Kashal Tee, the hip hop scene I fathom | |
| Let people know my windows belt keeps my jeans from sagging | |
| It seems I' m raggin, | |
| But fiends been naggin' for my next release | |
| I apply all my expertise to make them extra pleased | |
| Even get the breaks to peace that make a brother feel this | |
| All I do is independent, like double helix | |
| Selling out? well I hope that you' re not | |
| But how else could you afford all the soap that you drop? | |
| You can' t fuck wit me, yo, kid look | |
| Taking me out ain' t no small feat, you ain' t bigfoot | |
| You should know who the heck you' re facing | |
| ' cause my reputation leaves no room for speculation | |
| Now battle, is that you want to do? | |
| What kind of man are you? | |
| I bet you sit on a urinal too | |
| Now that it' s proven to you | |
| You got a lot to tell us, | |
| Them got your heart skipping beats like acappellas | |
| Celphtitled | |
| I' ll be a mythic author, | |
| Writing poems on tombstones | |
| Celphtitled and, nigga you couldn' t bring home | |
| I' m at the crib wit your bitch givin' me slow head | |
| Split you up in more pieces than when Jesus broke bread | |
| My click is raw, be prepared when you meet us | |
| Kill an unborn baby and you still couldn' t defetus ooh | |
| I don' t battle with rhymes, | |
| I' d rather battle with nines | |
| Instead of using my mind | |
| I' d rather shatter your spine | |
| The closest you ever came to a punch line, | |
| Was waiting for refreshments at the prom in ' 89 | |
| I' m super crafty, super nasty, super rhaspy | |
| Fuckin' bitches with super asscheeks | |
| You fucking faggots don' t know the raw speeches | |
| I beat a bitch untill her whole body turns to cleavage | |
| I' m hyperactive so I drink decaffeinated | |
| My left jab is fatal, leave your cats decapitated! |
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