Kings f. Sheisty Khrist Lyrics
| Song | Kings f. Sheisty Khrist |
| Artist | Cunninlynguists |
| Album | Strange Journey Volume Three |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Natti: | |
| Sire of sires, hiding behind squires | |
| Similar to the emperors transparent attire | |
| My guillotine swings and kings become silent | |
| Let the blue blood run red to make violet | |
| Let the brand new blood shed define violent | |
| Fighting over the chair that's highest up in the air | |
| The crown lives forever for never a lack of heir | |
| How do lambs try to come to lay claim to a lions share? | |
| Everybody claim to have a kings just cause | |
| Most wanna be the king just cus | |
| Its become about as mindless as Midas minus the touch | |
| Or a search and seizure of Ceasar's whole harem of sluts | |
| Minus the nuts | |
| Top of the mountain is much colder | |
| Coming for the crown that's rapped round ya molar | |
| Striking to bring fin to a shit eating grin | |
| Most made men turn maiden | |
| Few are brave till the end | |
| Sheisty Khrist: | |
| Yes! | |
| They playin checkers not chess | |
| Check the way that I move on the set | |
| King shit | |
| On the throne leaning, leg across the armrest | |
| Gold chains draped on my neck | |
| King shit | |
| I seen guys with dreams they had wings to fly | |
| Get crushed like flies | |
| King shit | |
| The king dies, and darkness will touch the skies | |
| But the sun shall rise | |
| King shit | |
| Deacon: | |
| You can bow or watch your bough break | |
| If the King swing leave you looking like some round steak | |
| You just jest | |
| Punch you in your clown face | |
| Fire turned flesh | |
| Turn you in you into pound cake | |
| Smokin something loud as the crowd | |
| When this castle forged steel came round to ya brow | |
| And ya crown fell | |
| I'm flyer than the ravens | |
| Carrying the news on your new found enslavement | |
| Any last words for your tombstone engravement | |
| As laymen lay with yo ladies as payment | |
| Cool enough to pull a coup in a coupe | |
| That weak talk make me sick, somebody brew me some soup | |
| Any regrets I'll let you brood in a noose | |
| When I come home to roost get reduced (hol’ up!) | |
| And fuck ya flag you need trust for truce | |
| Death to anyone who cuts you loose | |
| I'm talking that king shit |
| Natti: | |
| Sire of sires, hiding behind squires | |
| Similar to the emperors transparent attire | |
| My guillotine swings and kings become silent | |
| Let the blue blood run red to make violet | |
| Let the brand new blood shed define violent | |
| Fighting over the chair that' s highest up in the air | |
| The crown lives forever for never a lack of heir | |
| How do lambs try to come to lay claim to a lions share? | |
| Everybody claim to have a kings just cause | |
| Most wanna be the king just cus | |
| Its become about as mindless as Midas minus the touch | |
| Or a search and seizure of Ceasar' s whole harem of sluts | |
| Minus the nuts | |
| Top of the mountain is much colder | |
| Coming for the crown that' s rapped round ya molar | |
| Striking to bring fin to a shit eating grin | |
| Most made men turn maiden | |
| Few are brave till the end | |
| Sheisty Khrist: | |
| Yes! | |
| They playin checkers not chess | |
| Check the way that I move on the set | |
| King shit | |
| On the throne leaning, leg across the armrest | |
| Gold chains draped on my neck | |
| King shit | |
| I seen guys with dreams they had wings to fly | |
| Get crushed like flies | |
| King shit | |
| The king dies, and darkness will touch the skies | |
| But the sun shall rise | |
| King shit | |
| Deacon: | |
| You can bow or watch your bough break | |
| If the King swing leave you looking like some round steak | |
| You just jest | |
| Punch you in your clown face | |
| Fire turned flesh | |
| Turn you in you into pound cake | |
| Smokin something loud as the crowd | |
| When this castle forged steel came round to ya brow | |
| And ya crown fell | |
| I' m flyer than the ravens | |
| Carrying the news on your new found enslavement | |
| Any last words for your tombstone engravement | |
| As laymen lay with yo ladies as payment | |
| Cool enough to pull a coup in a coupe | |
| That weak talk make me sick, somebody brew me some soup | |
| Any regrets I' ll let you brood in a noose | |
| When I come home to roost get reduced hol' up! | |
| And fuck ya flag you need trust for truce | |
| Death to anyone who cuts you loose | |
| I' m talking that king shit |
| Natti: | |
| Sire of sires, hiding behind squires | |
| Similar to the emperors transparent attire | |
| My guillotine swings and kings become silent | |
| Let the blue blood run red to make violet | |
| Let the brand new blood shed define violent | |
| Fighting over the chair that' s highest up in the air | |
| The crown lives forever for never a lack of heir | |
| How do lambs try to come to lay claim to a lions share? | |
| Everybody claim to have a kings just cause | |
| Most wanna be the king just cus | |
| Its become about as mindless as Midas minus the touch | |
| Or a search and seizure of Ceasar' s whole harem of sluts | |
| Minus the nuts | |
| Top of the mountain is much colder | |
| Coming for the crown that' s rapped round ya molar | |
| Striking to bring fin to a shit eating grin | |
| Most made men turn maiden | |
| Few are brave till the end | |
| Sheisty Khrist: | |
| Yes! | |
| They playin checkers not chess | |
| Check the way that I move on the set | |
| King shit | |
| On the throne leaning, leg across the armrest | |
| Gold chains draped on my neck | |
| King shit | |
| I seen guys with dreams they had wings to fly | |
| Get crushed like flies | |
| King shit | |
| The king dies, and darkness will touch the skies | |
| But the sun shall rise | |
| King shit | |
| Deacon: | |
| You can bow or watch your bough break | |
| If the King swing leave you looking like some round steak | |
| You just jest | |
| Punch you in your clown face | |
| Fire turned flesh | |
| Turn you in you into pound cake | |
| Smokin something loud as the crowd | |
| When this castle forged steel came round to ya brow | |
| And ya crown fell | |
| I' m flyer than the ravens | |
| Carrying the news on your new found enslavement | |
| Any last words for your tombstone engravement | |
| As laymen lay with yo ladies as payment | |
| Cool enough to pull a coup in a coupe | |
| That weak talk make me sick, somebody brew me some soup | |
| Any regrets I' ll let you brood in a noose | |
| When I come home to roost get reduced hol' up! | |
| And fuck ya flag you need trust for truce | |
| Death to anyone who cuts you loose | |
| I' m talking that king shit |
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