Dark Knights ft. Wale (Prod. by E.Jones) Lyrics
| Song | Dark Knights ft. Wale (Prod. by E.Jones) |
| Artist | Rapsody |
| Album | She Got Game |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| [Verse 1: Rapsody] | |
| Dark nights been cold like night veins | |
| Serve *****s chills, I'm ill like Mike Caine | |
| Express and I stress the best, I'm insane | |
| To these ******* like Miranda, I'm lyrically Bruce Wayne | |
| Pain I felt it and belted it out in sorrow | |
| Broke days, way too embarrassed to ask to borrow | |
| A dollar for a quarter a gallon of gas tomorrow | |
| Struggles by the car load had me lower than Carlos | |
| Borders we sorta ignore 'em like ***** a lock yo | |
| No plan drawn still stone cold, a Picasso | |
| Nothing quite impossible, something similar to Pac though | |
| Young poet, we know it, sow it so it'll grow blow | |
| Where the wind take me, money'll never make me | |
| No matter where I go, so money'll never break me | |
| Though I been broke like pieces of soap pasted | |
| To cleanse my soul bands like grams we raising | |
| Reaching for better, it's whatever I'm Kevin Bacon | |
| X men out that want none a part of my making why | |
| Bane ain't a match for this emcee | |
| And Dark Knight bat wings need a M3 | |
| All y'all drool for Ra's al Ghul protégé | |
| I've been cold as Jay on "3 Kings" ***** get schooled | |
| I am the, 5'3" Morgan free-flow genius | |
| Underground killer like Bane whole team is | |
| They couldn't cop me now they stuck underneath me | |
| I took a leap of faith and I climbed up easy | |
| Rap-so-deezy and Eric Jones, I Gotham City | |
| I save ya all from the bad rappers in ya city | |
| And let you take a couple jewels like the cat lady | |
| Dark Knights rise again Jamla we back baby | |
| Yea | |
| I say Dark Knights rise again Jamla we back baby | |
| It's so quick to flip and crown a next king | |
| Trip like crips do the blues make us swing | |
| [Low as the flow where chariots rider wings?] | |
| I decoded the message arrested by modern bling | |
| [?] lives that never use knives to bring | |
| Themselves up a notch only took a stab at a dream | |
| Coliseums, used to pray to him, the Elohim | |
| Witnessed the door to door and I guarded it like Hakeem | |
| The Idi Amin of all these idiots mean I know | |
| Toe to toe go with the best that they throw in the ring seen | |
| Lot of despair, pair me with none of them things, two left | |
| Feets only dance to the beats with B's we rep | |
| Honesty, my history Cherokee and it's African | |
| Deep blue cinnamon, every bit of the black in him | |
| Embrace heritage, capitalize like acronyms | |
| We higher seed, no need to deplete it like the Vatican | |
| And Benedict ourself, deplenish all our wealth | |
| [Bridge (repeat until fade): Rapsody] | |
| Never blame a man for misfortune, do it yourself | |
| [Verse 2: Wale] | |
| Ain't rocked a 9th beat in a minute | |
| I ain't even with *****s | |
| You slight breeze, I'm wife beaters in winter | |
| I'm a product of Reaganomics where the law is a greater problem | |
| Where the *****s is spraying something and they got 'em | |
| Word to Robin, that's Gotham | |
| That was fiction but I'm talking about the district | |
| Where business is booming for bird flippers and morticians | |
| And I understand the plight of Bane | |
| Except we using other drugs just to fight the pain | |
| It's coming apart, I'm hoping to God you *****s ain't playing | |
| Cause I'm more Patrick Bateman and y'all Bruce Wayne | |
| And I do my thing really | |
| Folarin spit pepper, young veteran | |
| You *****s lack season like a torn ACL-a | |
| Level headed, I put this wit in yo lady belly | |
| And I bet my digits 'bout as thick as Fat Belly Bella | |
| I'm like the new fella meets (Goodfella) | |
| Good guy turned heel do the crude business | |
| Manute linked is a list of *****s that may envy | |
| But I eat danger for lunch, breakfast, and plate empty | |
| And I leave the place with some choice ladies to ******* with me | |
| And I pull hoes like cellos strings, ***** hear my symphony | |
| Of the Opus Mr. Holland ain't got nothing on | |
| Hollerin' at these hollow heads, we both shallow but I am raw | |
| Fly as *****, who the ***** is y'all to compare me to them peoples | |
| *****s questioning they outfit like Jim Carrey on the sequel, get me |
| Verse 1: Rapsody | |
| Dark nights been cold like night veins | |
| Serve s chills, I' m ill like Mike Caine | |
| Express and I stress the best, I' m insane | |
| To these like Miranda, I' m lyrically Bruce Wayne | |
| Pain I felt it and belted it out in sorrow | |
| Broke days, way too embarrassed to ask to borrow | |
| A dollar for a quarter a gallon of gas tomorrow | |
| Struggles by the car load had me lower than Carlos | |
| Borders we sorta ignore ' em like a lock yo | |
| No plan drawn still stone cold, a Picasso | |
| Nothing quite impossible, something similar to Pac though | |
| Young poet, we know it, sow it so it' ll grow blow | |
| Where the wind take me, money' ll never make me | |
| No matter where I go, so money' ll never break me | |
| Though I been broke like pieces of soap pasted | |
| To cleanse my soul bands like grams we raising | |
| Reaching for better, it' s whatever I' m Kevin Bacon | |
| X men out that want none a part of my making why | |
| Bane ain' t a match for this emcee | |
| And Dark Knight bat wings need a M3 | |
| All y' all drool for Ra' s al Ghul prote ge | |
| I' ve been cold as Jay on " 3 Kings" get schooled | |
| I am the, 5' 3" Morgan freeflow genius | |
| Underground killer like Bane whole team is | |
| They couldn' t cop me now they stuck underneath me | |
| I took a leap of faith and I climbed up easy | |
| Rapsodeezy and Eric Jones, I Gotham City | |
| I save ya all from the bad rappers in ya city | |
| And let you take a couple jewels like the cat lady | |
| Dark Knights rise again Jamla we back baby | |
| Yea | |
| I say Dark Knights rise again Jamla we back baby | |
| It' s so quick to flip and crown a next king | |
| Trip like crips do the blues make us swing | |
| Low as the flow where chariots rider wings? | |
| I decoded the message arrested by modern bling | |
| ? lives that never use knives to bring | |
| Themselves up a notch only took a stab at a dream | |
| Coliseums, used to pray to him, the Elohim | |
| Witnessed the door to door and I guarded it like Hakeem | |
| The Idi Amin of all these idiots mean I know | |
| Toe to toe go with the best that they throw in the ring seen | |
| Lot of despair, pair me with none of them things, two left | |
| Feets only dance to the beats with B' s we rep | |
| Honesty, my history Cherokee and it' s African | |
| Deep blue cinnamon, every bit of the black in him | |
| Embrace heritage, capitalize like acronyms | |
| We higher seed, no need to deplete it like the Vatican | |
| And Benedict ourself, deplenish all our wealth | |
| Bridge repeat until fade: Rapsody | |
| Never blame a man for misfortune, do it yourself | |
| Verse 2: Wale | |
| Ain' t rocked a 9th beat in a minute | |
| I ain' t even with s | |
| You slight breeze, I' m wife beaters in winter | |
| I' m a product of Reaganomics where the law is a greater problem | |
| Where the s is spraying something and they got ' em | |
| Word to Robin, that' s Gotham | |
| That was fiction but I' m talking about the district | |
| Where business is booming for bird flippers and morticians | |
| And I understand the plight of Bane | |
| Except we using other drugs just to fight the pain | |
| It' s coming apart, I' m hoping to God you s ain' t playing | |
| Cause I' m more Patrick Bateman and y' all Bruce Wayne | |
| And I do my thing really | |
| Folarin spit pepper, young veteran | |
| You s lack season like a torn ACLa | |
| Level headed, I put this wit in yo lady belly | |
| And I bet my digits ' bout as thick as Fat Belly Bella | |
| I' m like the new fella meets Goodfella | |
| Good guy turned heel do the crude business | |
| Manute linked is a list of s that may envy | |
| But I eat danger for lunch, breakfast, and plate empty | |
| And I leave the place with some choice ladies to with me | |
| And I pull hoes like cellos strings, hear my symphony | |
| Of the Opus Mr. Holland ain' t got nothing on | |
| Hollerin' at these hollow heads, we both shallow but I am raw | |
| Fly as , who the is y' all to compare me to them peoples | |
| s questioning they outfit like Jim Carrey on the sequel, get me |
| Verse 1: Rapsody | |
| Dark nights been cold like night veins | |
| Serve s chills, I' m ill like Mike Caine | |
| Express and I stress the best, I' m insane | |
| To these like Miranda, I' m lyrically Bruce Wayne | |
| Pain I felt it and belted it out in sorrow | |
| Broke days, way too embarrassed to ask to borrow | |
| A dollar for a quarter a gallon of gas tomorrow | |
| Struggles by the car load had me lower than Carlos | |
| Borders we sorta ignore ' em like a lock yo | |
| No plan drawn still stone cold, a Picasso | |
| Nothing quite impossible, something similar to Pac though | |
| Young poet, we know it, sow it so it' ll grow blow | |
| Where the wind take me, money' ll never make me | |
| No matter where I go, so money' ll never break me | |
| Though I been broke like pieces of soap pasted | |
| To cleanse my soul bands like grams we raising | |
| Reaching for better, it' s whatever I' m Kevin Bacon | |
| X men out that want none a part of my making why | |
| Bane ain' t a match for this emcee | |
| And Dark Knight bat wings need a M3 | |
| All y' all drool for Ra' s al Ghul proté gé | |
| I' ve been cold as Jay on " 3 Kings" get schooled | |
| I am the, 5' 3" Morgan freeflow genius | |
| Underground killer like Bane whole team is | |
| They couldn' t cop me now they stuck underneath me | |
| I took a leap of faith and I climbed up easy | |
| Rapsodeezy and Eric Jones, I Gotham City | |
| I save ya all from the bad rappers in ya city | |
| And let you take a couple jewels like the cat lady | |
| Dark Knights rise again Jamla we back baby | |
| Yea | |
| I say Dark Knights rise again Jamla we back baby | |
| It' s so quick to flip and crown a next king | |
| Trip like crips do the blues make us swing | |
| Low as the flow where chariots rider wings? | |
| I decoded the message arrested by modern bling | |
| ? lives that never use knives to bring | |
| Themselves up a notch only took a stab at a dream | |
| Coliseums, used to pray to him, the Elohim | |
| Witnessed the door to door and I guarded it like Hakeem | |
| The Idi Amin of all these idiots mean I know | |
| Toe to toe go with the best that they throw in the ring seen | |
| Lot of despair, pair me with none of them things, two left | |
| Feets only dance to the beats with B' s we rep | |
| Honesty, my history Cherokee and it' s African | |
| Deep blue cinnamon, every bit of the black in him | |
| Embrace heritage, capitalize like acronyms | |
| We higher seed, no need to deplete it like the Vatican | |
| And Benedict ourself, deplenish all our wealth | |
| Bridge repeat until fade: Rapsody | |
| Never blame a man for misfortune, do it yourself | |
| Verse 2: Wale | |
| Ain' t rocked a 9th beat in a minute | |
| I ain' t even with s | |
| You slight breeze, I' m wife beaters in winter | |
| I' m a product of Reaganomics where the law is a greater problem | |
| Where the s is spraying something and they got ' em | |
| Word to Robin, that' s Gotham | |
| That was fiction but I' m talking about the district | |
| Where business is booming for bird flippers and morticians | |
| And I understand the plight of Bane | |
| Except we using other drugs just to fight the pain | |
| It' s coming apart, I' m hoping to God you s ain' t playing | |
| Cause I' m more Patrick Bateman and y' all Bruce Wayne | |
| And I do my thing really | |
| Folarin spit pepper, young veteran | |
| You s lack season like a torn ACLa | |
| Level headed, I put this wit in yo lady belly | |
| And I bet my digits ' bout as thick as Fat Belly Bella | |
| I' m like the new fella meets Goodfella | |
| Good guy turned heel do the crude business | |
| Manute linked is a list of s that may envy | |
| But I eat danger for lunch, breakfast, and plate empty | |
| And I leave the place with some choice ladies to with me | |
| And I pull hoes like cellos strings, hear my symphony | |
| Of the Opus Mr. Holland ain' t got nothing on | |
| Hollerin' at these hollow heads, we both shallow but I am raw | |
| Fly as , who the is y' all to compare me to them peoples | |
| s questioning they outfit like Jim Carrey on the sequel, get me |
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