Cenoir Studies 02 Lyrics
| Song | Cenoir Studies 02 |
| Artist | Canibus |
| Album | Miclub - The Curriculum |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : G. Williams | |
| Artist: Canibus | |
| Album: Mic Club: The Curriculum | |
| Song: Cenoir Studies 02 | |
| Producer: Kyros | |
| Time: 5:02 | |
| (Canibus) | |
| Yo, the artists come and go, so does the show, | |
| So does the doe, nothing lasts forever you know, | |
| It's all about the experience and what you take from it, | |
| What you learn in the process, what you make of it, | |
| Number two in the world, at the top of the summit, | |
| I loved it, should have packed a parachute for the plummet, | |
| Now I'm humping these klicks crawling through mud pits, | |
| With guns and hundreds of clips on Uncle Sam's budget, | |
| A hundred rifles for self, | |
| Handcuff Burt Reynolds to Jim Brown and escape with Rachel Welch, | |
| Isn't my queen lovely? | |
| Feed her rum and raisin ice cream shower her with diamond rings and money, | |
| Twenty three hours a day I study, | |
| Dreaming about beautiful women, I hate you gay Teletubbies, | |
| Dreams keep me alive, you can't take them from me, | |
| The battlefield is bloody, mean and ugly, | |
| My adrenaline rushes when the enemy rush me, | |
| Trying to bust me because I swore I'd defend my country, | |
| If I could choose between being lucky and having money, | |
| Nothing negative could ever touch me, | |
| What must be is ultimately not up to me, | |
| But I'll sacrifice my life for yours if you trust me, | |
| Pin my medals upon my chest, | |
| So I can left, right, left into certain death, | |
| God speed and God bless, | |
| In the end I hope God is impressed if I'm put to rest, | |
| I did what I came to do, no time left, | |
| Say my name out of the blue because I rhyme the best, | |
| You can come and download every rhyme that I spit, | |
| You can pay homage to Rip for one dollar a clip, | |
| None of those rhymes is on the album bitch, | |
| It's a storage facility where I keep my shit, | |
| For the students in the class that want to peep my shit, | |
| Break a bootlegger leg if he leak my shit, | |
| If you don't want to sign in bitch, then eat my shit, | |
| Drink my piss, you could never compete like this, | |
| I'ma give you an example how deep I get, | |
| Technology not available for purchase, | |
| My brain collects, stores and converts million bar verses, | |
| At a standoff distance at a thousand feet, | |
| I illuminate the target and pound him to sleep, | |
| To within one micro inch if you're out in the street, | |
| I could close my ears and still move my mouth to the beat, | |
| Dial up to your network and make your files delete, | |
| Count to three, listen to your browser beep, | |
| Too late, foot already stepped in the faeces, | |
| Doctor Norton's too sick to help your PC's, | |
| Virtually I'll make your virtual memory freeze, | |
| With a weapon of mass destruction, WMD, | |
| I'm a TMC, trouble to emcees, | |
| Destroy colonies with UCAV's, | |
| I'll send in no less than twenty A-Teams, | |
| Wipe you out before I even get to the B's, | |
| With my transatmospheric space based mirrors, | |
| Can you write that out without typographical error? | |
| Dumb fucks, I'm the best ever, whatever, | |
| Divide eighteen by six, you get the third letter, | |
| From the lowest earth orbit up to the heavens, | |
| As a spitter I'm still tougher than leather, | |
| I had to go underground to get over the pressure, | |
| Battle rap from the Renaissance, multi-megawatt, | |
| Bury you beneath the bedrock on a bed of rocks, | |
| I could never get bored, I'll write about Huxley | |
| versus Wilberforce, fuck writing a killer chorus, | |
| The Copenhagen curriculum of metaphors, | |
| Everything from Bob Marley to Tenor Saw, | |
| To System of a Down song number fourteen, | |
| I see 'Aerials' in the sky when I dream, | |
| The end is near, I wish it would hurry up, | |
| I feel nano-bacteria burning me up, | |
| Before I explain in detail, you should analyze | |
| the Mars' mineral samples under my nails, | |
| Sometimes I wonder whose listening, | |
| The auditory Pavlovian conditioning is so sickening, | |
| My adenine, guanine, cytosine, and thiamine, | |
| Is really what makes me rhyme supreme, | |
| As soon as I hear the beat, bada-bing, | |
| You've gotta think, "A hundred bars? Damn that's a lot of ink,” | |
| Eventually all of my albums will be out of print, | |
| There will be a clone for every style I invent, | |
| For every line I rhyme intense, | |
| For all the time I spent, every word I spit since '96, | |
| If you can input at a hundred, I can output way above it, | |
| If we're in public I'll double it, | |
| Put this on your study list and go study bitch, | |
| Basically quoting Hammer, “You Can't Touch This,” | |
| I'm too assertive and alert, for what it's worth, | |
| My best piece of work is still yearning to be birthed, | |
| Class dismissed, | |
| Cenior Studies from Canibus. | |
| (Outro: sample) | |
| There is something mystical, but it's not rare | |
| and nobody should treat it as though this is something special | |
| that writer's do | |
| Anybody--anybody born physically able in the brain | |
| can sit down and begin to write something and discover | |
| that there are depths in her soul or his soul that are untapped |
| zuo qu : G. Williams | |
| Artist: Canibus | |
| Album: Mic Club: The Curriculum | |
| Song: Cenoir Studies 02 | |
| Producer: Kyros | |
| Time: 5: 02 | |
| Canibus | |
| Yo, the artists come and go, so does the show, | |
| So does the doe, nothing lasts forever you know, | |
| It' s all about the experience and what you take from it, | |
| What you learn in the process, what you make of it, | |
| Number two in the world, at the top of the summit, | |
| I loved it, should have packed a parachute for the plummet, | |
| Now I' m humping these klicks crawling through mud pits, | |
| With guns and hundreds of clips on Uncle Sam' s budget, | |
| A hundred rifles for self, | |
| Handcuff Burt Reynolds to Jim Brown and escape with Rachel Welch, | |
| Isn' t my queen lovely? | |
| Feed her rum and raisin ice cream shower her with diamond rings and money, | |
| Twenty three hours a day I study, | |
| Dreaming about beautiful women, I hate you gay Teletubbies, | |
| Dreams keep me alive, you can' t take them from me, | |
| The battlefield is bloody, mean and ugly, | |
| My adrenaline rushes when the enemy rush me, | |
| Trying to bust me because I swore I' d defend my country, | |
| If I could choose between being lucky and having money, | |
| Nothing negative could ever touch me, | |
| What must be is ultimately not up to me, | |
| But I' ll sacrifice my life for yours if you trust me, | |
| Pin my medals upon my chest, | |
| So I can left, right, left into certain death, | |
| God speed and God bless, | |
| In the end I hope God is impressed if I' m put to rest, | |
| I did what I came to do, no time left, | |
| Say my name out of the blue because I rhyme the best, | |
| You can come and download every rhyme that I spit, | |
| You can pay homage to Rip for one dollar a clip, | |
| None of those rhymes is on the album bitch, | |
| It' s a storage facility where I keep my shit, | |
| For the students in the class that want to peep my shit, | |
| Break a bootlegger leg if he leak my shit, | |
| If you don' t want to sign in bitch, then eat my shit, | |
| Drink my piss, you could never compete like this, | |
| I' ma give you an example how deep I get, | |
| Technology not available for purchase, | |
| My brain collects, stores and converts million bar verses, | |
| At a standoff distance at a thousand feet, | |
| I illuminate the target and pound him to sleep, | |
| To within one micro inch if you' re out in the street, | |
| I could close my ears and still move my mouth to the beat, | |
| Dial up to your network and make your files delete, | |
| Count to three, listen to your browser beep, | |
| Too late, foot already stepped in the faeces, | |
| Doctor Norton' s too sick to help your PC' s, | |
| Virtually I' ll make your virtual memory freeze, | |
| With a weapon of mass destruction, WMD, | |
| I' m a TMC, trouble to emcees, | |
| Destroy colonies with UCAV' s, | |
| I' ll send in no less than twenty ATeams, | |
| Wipe you out before I even get to the B' s, | |
| With my transatmospheric space based mirrors, | |
| Can you write that out without typographical error? | |
| Dumb fucks, I' m the best ever, whatever, | |
| Divide eighteen by six, you get the third letter, | |
| From the lowest earth orbit up to the heavens, | |
| As a spitter I' m still tougher than leather, | |
| I had to go underground to get over the pressure, | |
| Battle rap from the Renaissance, multimegawatt, | |
| Bury you beneath the bedrock on a bed of rocks, | |
| I could never get bored, I' ll write about Huxley | |
| versus Wilberforce, fuck writing a killer chorus, | |
| The Copenhagen curriculum of metaphors, | |
| Everything from Bob Marley to Tenor Saw, | |
| To System of a Down song number fourteen, | |
| I see ' Aerials' in the sky when I dream, | |
| The end is near, I wish it would hurry up, | |
| I feel nanobacteria burning me up, | |
| Before I explain in detail, you should analyze | |
| the Mars' mineral samples under my nails, | |
| Sometimes I wonder whose listening, | |
| The auditory Pavlovian conditioning is so sickening, | |
| My adenine, guanine, cytosine, and thiamine, | |
| Is really what makes me rhyme supreme, | |
| As soon as I hear the beat, badabing, | |
| You' ve gotta think, " A hundred bars? Damn that' s a lot of ink," | |
| Eventually all of my albums will be out of print, | |
| There will be a clone for every style I invent, | |
| For every line I rhyme intense, | |
| For all the time I spent, every word I spit since ' 96, | |
| If you can input at a hundred, I can output way above it, | |
| If we' re in public I' ll double it, | |
| Put this on your study list and go study bitch, | |
| Basically quoting Hammer, " You Can' t Touch This," | |
| I' m too assertive and alert, for what it' s worth, | |
| My best piece of work is still yearning to be birthed, | |
| Class dismissed, | |
| Cenior Studies from Canibus. | |
| Outro: sample | |
| There is something mystical, but it' s not rare | |
| and nobody should treat it as though this is something special | |
| that writer' s do | |
| Anybodyanybody born physically able in the brain | |
| can sit down and begin to write something and discover | |
| that there are depths in her soul or his soul that are untapped |
| zuò qǔ : G. Williams | |
| Artist: Canibus | |
| Album: Mic Club: The Curriculum | |
| Song: Cenoir Studies 02 | |
| Producer: Kyros | |
| Time: 5: 02 | |
| Canibus | |
| Yo, the artists come and go, so does the show, | |
| So does the doe, nothing lasts forever you know, | |
| It' s all about the experience and what you take from it, | |
| What you learn in the process, what you make of it, | |
| Number two in the world, at the top of the summit, | |
| I loved it, should have packed a parachute for the plummet, | |
| Now I' m humping these klicks crawling through mud pits, | |
| With guns and hundreds of clips on Uncle Sam' s budget, | |
| A hundred rifles for self, | |
| Handcuff Burt Reynolds to Jim Brown and escape with Rachel Welch, | |
| Isn' t my queen lovely? | |
| Feed her rum and raisin ice cream shower her with diamond rings and money, | |
| Twenty three hours a day I study, | |
| Dreaming about beautiful women, I hate you gay Teletubbies, | |
| Dreams keep me alive, you can' t take them from me, | |
| The battlefield is bloody, mean and ugly, | |
| My adrenaline rushes when the enemy rush me, | |
| Trying to bust me because I swore I' d defend my country, | |
| If I could choose between being lucky and having money, | |
| Nothing negative could ever touch me, | |
| What must be is ultimately not up to me, | |
| But I' ll sacrifice my life for yours if you trust me, | |
| Pin my medals upon my chest, | |
| So I can left, right, left into certain death, | |
| God speed and God bless, | |
| In the end I hope God is impressed if I' m put to rest, | |
| I did what I came to do, no time left, | |
| Say my name out of the blue because I rhyme the best, | |
| You can come and download every rhyme that I spit, | |
| You can pay homage to Rip for one dollar a clip, | |
| None of those rhymes is on the album bitch, | |
| It' s a storage facility where I keep my shit, | |
| For the students in the class that want to peep my shit, | |
| Break a bootlegger leg if he leak my shit, | |
| If you don' t want to sign in bitch, then eat my shit, | |
| Drink my piss, you could never compete like this, | |
| I' ma give you an example how deep I get, | |
| Technology not available for purchase, | |
| My brain collects, stores and converts million bar verses, | |
| At a standoff distance at a thousand feet, | |
| I illuminate the target and pound him to sleep, | |
| To within one micro inch if you' re out in the street, | |
| I could close my ears and still move my mouth to the beat, | |
| Dial up to your network and make your files delete, | |
| Count to three, listen to your browser beep, | |
| Too late, foot already stepped in the faeces, | |
| Doctor Norton' s too sick to help your PC' s, | |
| Virtually I' ll make your virtual memory freeze, | |
| With a weapon of mass destruction, WMD, | |
| I' m a TMC, trouble to emcees, | |
| Destroy colonies with UCAV' s, | |
| I' ll send in no less than twenty ATeams, | |
| Wipe you out before I even get to the B' s, | |
| With my transatmospheric space based mirrors, | |
| Can you write that out without typographical error? | |
| Dumb fucks, I' m the best ever, whatever, | |
| Divide eighteen by six, you get the third letter, | |
| From the lowest earth orbit up to the heavens, | |
| As a spitter I' m still tougher than leather, | |
| I had to go underground to get over the pressure, | |
| Battle rap from the Renaissance, multimegawatt, | |
| Bury you beneath the bedrock on a bed of rocks, | |
| I could never get bored, I' ll write about Huxley | |
| versus Wilberforce, fuck writing a killer chorus, | |
| The Copenhagen curriculum of metaphors, | |
| Everything from Bob Marley to Tenor Saw, | |
| To System of a Down song number fourteen, | |
| I see ' Aerials' in the sky when I dream, | |
| The end is near, I wish it would hurry up, | |
| I feel nanobacteria burning me up, | |
| Before I explain in detail, you should analyze | |
| the Mars' mineral samples under my nails, | |
| Sometimes I wonder whose listening, | |
| The auditory Pavlovian conditioning is so sickening, | |
| My adenine, guanine, cytosine, and thiamine, | |
| Is really what makes me rhyme supreme, | |
| As soon as I hear the beat, badabing, | |
| You' ve gotta think, " A hundred bars? Damn that' s a lot of ink," | |
| Eventually all of my albums will be out of print, | |
| There will be a clone for every style I invent, | |
| For every line I rhyme intense, | |
| For all the time I spent, every word I spit since ' 96, | |
| If you can input at a hundred, I can output way above it, | |
| If we' re in public I' ll double it, | |
| Put this on your study list and go study bitch, | |
| Basically quoting Hammer, " You Can' t Touch This," | |
| I' m too assertive and alert, for what it' s worth, | |
| My best piece of work is still yearning to be birthed, | |
| Class dismissed, | |
| Cenior Studies from Canibus. | |
| Outro: sample | |
| There is something mystical, but it' s not rare | |
| and nobody should treat it as though this is something special | |
| that writer' s do | |
| Anybodyanybody born physically able in the brain | |
| can sit down and begin to write something and discover | |
| that there are depths in her soul or his soul that are untapped |
Similar Songs
YouTube Results (More on YouTube)