Inner G Lyrics
| Song | Inner G |
| Artist | Killah Priest |
| Album | The Offering |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Austin, Bogard, Brown, Reed ... | |
| (Killah Priest) | |
| I hide my face like the Elephant Man, follow, you reach | |
| Out of long black sleeves with skeleton hands | |
| Touch rappers, watch them rot, they skin fall off | |
| Boil in the pavement, on the cold boardwalks | |
| Then I laugh like the Joker, while pissin' on 'em | |
| Then put on my hood, wait on the next corner | |
| The next victim, look at his face, with tears in my eyes | |
| That crystalize and turn into stone, before they fall from my dome | |
| Like an avalanche, the way I spit sound like an African chant | |
| The Priest run through MC's like I'm trampelin' ants | |
| Peep the form, it's a Vatican stance | |
| The Pope Victor the first, the flow spit with a curse | |
| The sicker the verse, the more bodies to stick in the dirt | |
| Wait around, I'mma pick you a hearse | |
| I like them long black ones, drive around while spinning on two wheels | |
| It's whatever you feel, blue steel | |
| On black day, silver clouds when the mack spray | |
| Turn rappers back into clay | |
| My mind's a museum filled with microphone exhibits | |
| Of rhymes that I write, that look like pictures | |
| (Ras Kass) | |
| Aiyo, my technique is bezerk, bezerk, I'm better than ya'll niggas | |
| Pull ya fucking skin off like a T-shirt | |
| We taught, no remorse, donate aborted rappers for skin cell research | |
| I spit a few bars, and niggas is Fubar | |
| You wouldn't ride on me if you was driving two cars, homey | |
| The mind of Caesar Augustus, rocking a caesar | |
| Eating a caesar salad in August | |
| Plus I'm allustrious, I've been with the boys | |
| Born and raised in L.A. by monster Co-D's | |
| Slowly chose the dark side for ice cold forties | |
| Like Obi-Wan Kenobi with an iced out Rollie | |
| And might fuck a white bitch, don't get it fucked up | |
| Love black chicks, but they don't like to suck nuts | |
| So tell me what the hell am I suppose to do | |
| It's like sipping siz-urp, in youth and I'm suppose to screw | |
| Talk slimey like Oprah, people shit backwards | |
| Just to make Harpo out of Oprah | |
| Ras spit sicker than most groups put together | |
| Cuz ya'll put together, I put foot to leather | |
| And walk over dead bodies, like Rise of the Machines | |
| Don't be suprised, nigga, it's Idi Amin | |
| Rappers get 'ate' up, like that number on Kobe's jersey | |
| God dammit it, I pop that swervy | |
| (Canibus) | |
| Canibus, the only M.C. on Earth, | |
| That did geophysical research, about the new rebirth | |
| The Sun turn the Earth, to rotisserie dirt | |
| Listen 'fore you start dissing me first, this'll be worse | |
| Twelve degree pole shift, displace the ocean | |
| They send space probes in, they come back broken | |
| Armageddon omen, Planet X inbound | |
| That rapidly approaching, none of us are chosen | |
| Field manual, two zero dash four six | |
| Your life's getting away, you better run for it | |
| Population reduction, mass destruction | |
| The reset button is coming and some of us love it | |
| The return of Niburu, we will prepare you | |
| Stay away from the media, they will scare you | |
| Rappers respect beef, tactics and technique | |
| I'mma show you how the best compete, let's peep | |
| My verse on the mic, is a surgical strike | |
| Of herbal delight with no personal life | |
| Live Saturday Night, sacrifice, batter the mic | |
| Jab to the left, jab to the right | |
| (Kurupt) | |
| I'm the scripture sculpture, volcanic | |
| You ignoramous, I'm the future | |
| Volcanic vulture, proverb | |
| I fire words, test this cannon | |
| All opponents, poetry Leonist | |
| Spartan, you just can't sink me | |
| Shots, Hell's Kitchen, to Hellsinki | |
| Since I was born, it's all about roaming | |
| Since the Roman wars, I've been Caesar | |
| Master seizures, master of diseases | |
| Throughout the legions, temperature's beyond degrees | |
| Terrifying like Saddam allegiance | |
| Ingenius, fuck ya, I don't wanna have to bust ya open | |
| But I think you're looking too closely | |
| And I don't wanna have to bust ya eyes, fuck it | |
| Fuck your eyes, fuck your momma, fuck the drama | |
| Who needs it, who like it, who bleeds it | |
| Who think it, who smoke it, who drink it | |
| Mothafucka, I'mma start shrinking | |
| Each and every one of you niggas, bitches particles | |
| You walk in and get read like articles | |
| Shredding, I'mma teach all of ya'll | |
| How to start poetry, beheading, of the headless Horsemen, nigga | |
| Read the perscription, try it once, instantaneous addiction | |
| If you ever wanna see me | |
| H-O-R-S-E-M-E-N, nigga, nigga, nigga |
| zuo ci : Austin, Bogard, Brown, Reed ... | |
| Killah Priest | |
| I hide my face like the Elephant Man, follow, you reach | |
| Out of long black sleeves with skeleton hands | |
| Touch rappers, watch them rot, they skin fall off | |
| Boil in the pavement, on the cold boardwalks | |
| Then I laugh like the Joker, while pissin' on ' em | |
| Then put on my hood, wait on the next corner | |
| The next victim, look at his face, with tears in my eyes | |
| That crystalize and turn into stone, before they fall from my dome | |
| Like an avalanche, the way I spit sound like an African chant | |
| The Priest run through MC' s like I' m trampelin' ants | |
| Peep the form, it' s a Vatican stance | |
| The Pope Victor the first, the flow spit with a curse | |
| The sicker the verse, the more bodies to stick in the dirt | |
| Wait around, I' mma pick you a hearse | |
| I like them long black ones, drive around while spinning on two wheels | |
| It' s whatever you feel, blue steel | |
| On black day, silver clouds when the mack spray | |
| Turn rappers back into clay | |
| My mind' s a museum filled with microphone exhibits | |
| Of rhymes that I write, that look like pictures | |
| Ras Kass | |
| Aiyo, my technique is bezerk, bezerk, I' m better than ya' ll niggas | |
| Pull ya fucking skin off like a Tshirt | |
| We taught, no remorse, donate aborted rappers for skin cell research | |
| I spit a few bars, and niggas is Fubar | |
| You wouldn' t ride on me if you was driving two cars, homey | |
| The mind of Caesar Augustus, rocking a caesar | |
| Eating a caesar salad in August | |
| Plus I' m allustrious, I' ve been with the boys | |
| Born and raised in L. A. by monster CoD' s | |
| Slowly chose the dark side for ice cold forties | |
| Like ObiWan Kenobi with an iced out Rollie | |
| And might fuck a white bitch, don' t get it fucked up | |
| Love black chicks, but they don' t like to suck nuts | |
| So tell me what the hell am I suppose to do | |
| It' s like sipping sizurp, in youth and I' m suppose to screw | |
| Talk slimey like Oprah, people shit backwards | |
| Just to make Harpo out of Oprah | |
| Ras spit sicker than most groups put together | |
| Cuz ya' ll put together, I put foot to leather | |
| And walk over dead bodies, like Rise of the Machines | |
| Don' t be suprised, nigga, it' s Idi Amin | |
| Rappers get ' ate' up, like that number on Kobe' s jersey | |
| God dammit it, I pop that swervy | |
| Canibus | |
| Canibus, the only M. C. on Earth, | |
| That did geophysical research, about the new rebirth | |
| The Sun turn the Earth, to rotisserie dirt | |
| Listen ' fore you start dissing me first, this' ll be worse | |
| Twelve degree pole shift, displace the ocean | |
| They send space probes in, they come back broken | |
| Armageddon omen, Planet X inbound | |
| That rapidly approaching, none of us are chosen | |
| Field manual, two zero dash four six | |
| Your life' s getting away, you better run for it | |
| Population reduction, mass destruction | |
| The reset button is coming and some of us love it | |
| The return of Niburu, we will prepare you | |
| Stay away from the media, they will scare you | |
| Rappers respect beef, tactics and technique | |
| I' mma show you how the best compete, let' s peep | |
| My verse on the mic, is a surgical strike | |
| Of herbal delight with no personal life | |
| Live Saturday Night, sacrifice, batter the mic | |
| Jab to the left, jab to the right | |
| Kurupt | |
| I' m the scripture sculpture, volcanic | |
| You ignoramous, I' m the future | |
| Volcanic vulture, proverb | |
| I fire words, test this cannon | |
| All opponents, poetry Leonist | |
| Spartan, you just can' t sink me | |
| Shots, Hell' s Kitchen, to Hellsinki | |
| Since I was born, it' s all about roaming | |
| Since the Roman wars, I' ve been Caesar | |
| Master seizures, master of diseases | |
| Throughout the legions, temperature' s beyond degrees | |
| Terrifying like Saddam allegiance | |
| Ingenius, fuck ya, I don' t wanna have to bust ya open | |
| But I think you' re looking too closely | |
| And I don' t wanna have to bust ya eyes, fuck it | |
| Fuck your eyes, fuck your momma, fuck the drama | |
| Who needs it, who like it, who bleeds it | |
| Who think it, who smoke it, who drink it | |
| Mothafucka, I' mma start shrinking | |
| Each and every one of you niggas, bitches particles | |
| You walk in and get read like articles | |
| Shredding, I' mma teach all of ya' ll | |
| How to start poetry, beheading, of the headless Horsemen, nigga | |
| Read the perscription, try it once, instantaneous addiction | |
| If you ever wanna see me | |
| HORSEMEN, nigga, nigga, nigga |
| zuò cí : Austin, Bogard, Brown, Reed ... | |
| Killah Priest | |
| I hide my face like the Elephant Man, follow, you reach | |
| Out of long black sleeves with skeleton hands | |
| Touch rappers, watch them rot, they skin fall off | |
| Boil in the pavement, on the cold boardwalks | |
| Then I laugh like the Joker, while pissin' on ' em | |
| Then put on my hood, wait on the next corner | |
| The next victim, look at his face, with tears in my eyes | |
| That crystalize and turn into stone, before they fall from my dome | |
| Like an avalanche, the way I spit sound like an African chant | |
| The Priest run through MC' s like I' m trampelin' ants | |
| Peep the form, it' s a Vatican stance | |
| The Pope Victor the first, the flow spit with a curse | |
| The sicker the verse, the more bodies to stick in the dirt | |
| Wait around, I' mma pick you a hearse | |
| I like them long black ones, drive around while spinning on two wheels | |
| It' s whatever you feel, blue steel | |
| On black day, silver clouds when the mack spray | |
| Turn rappers back into clay | |
| My mind' s a museum filled with microphone exhibits | |
| Of rhymes that I write, that look like pictures | |
| Ras Kass | |
| Aiyo, my technique is bezerk, bezerk, I' m better than ya' ll niggas | |
| Pull ya fucking skin off like a Tshirt | |
| We taught, no remorse, donate aborted rappers for skin cell research | |
| I spit a few bars, and niggas is Fubar | |
| You wouldn' t ride on me if you was driving two cars, homey | |
| The mind of Caesar Augustus, rocking a caesar | |
| Eating a caesar salad in August | |
| Plus I' m allustrious, I' ve been with the boys | |
| Born and raised in L. A. by monster CoD' s | |
| Slowly chose the dark side for ice cold forties | |
| Like ObiWan Kenobi with an iced out Rollie | |
| And might fuck a white bitch, don' t get it fucked up | |
| Love black chicks, but they don' t like to suck nuts | |
| So tell me what the hell am I suppose to do | |
| It' s like sipping sizurp, in youth and I' m suppose to screw | |
| Talk slimey like Oprah, people shit backwards | |
| Just to make Harpo out of Oprah | |
| Ras spit sicker than most groups put together | |
| Cuz ya' ll put together, I put foot to leather | |
| And walk over dead bodies, like Rise of the Machines | |
| Don' t be suprised, nigga, it' s Idi Amin | |
| Rappers get ' ate' up, like that number on Kobe' s jersey | |
| God dammit it, I pop that swervy | |
| Canibus | |
| Canibus, the only M. C. on Earth, | |
| That did geophysical research, about the new rebirth | |
| The Sun turn the Earth, to rotisserie dirt | |
| Listen ' fore you start dissing me first, this' ll be worse | |
| Twelve degree pole shift, displace the ocean | |
| They send space probes in, they come back broken | |
| Armageddon omen, Planet X inbound | |
| That rapidly approaching, none of us are chosen | |
| Field manual, two zero dash four six | |
| Your life' s getting away, you better run for it | |
| Population reduction, mass destruction | |
| The reset button is coming and some of us love it | |
| The return of Niburu, we will prepare you | |
| Stay away from the media, they will scare you | |
| Rappers respect beef, tactics and technique | |
| I' mma show you how the best compete, let' s peep | |
| My verse on the mic, is a surgical strike | |
| Of herbal delight with no personal life | |
| Live Saturday Night, sacrifice, batter the mic | |
| Jab to the left, jab to the right | |
| Kurupt | |
| I' m the scripture sculpture, volcanic | |
| You ignoramous, I' m the future | |
| Volcanic vulture, proverb | |
| I fire words, test this cannon | |
| All opponents, poetry Leonist | |
| Spartan, you just can' t sink me | |
| Shots, Hell' s Kitchen, to Hellsinki | |
| Since I was born, it' s all about roaming | |
| Since the Roman wars, I' ve been Caesar | |
| Master seizures, master of diseases | |
| Throughout the legions, temperature' s beyond degrees | |
| Terrifying like Saddam allegiance | |
| Ingenius, fuck ya, I don' t wanna have to bust ya open | |
| But I think you' re looking too closely | |
| And I don' t wanna have to bust ya eyes, fuck it | |
| Fuck your eyes, fuck your momma, fuck the drama | |
| Who needs it, who like it, who bleeds it | |
| Who think it, who smoke it, who drink it | |
| Mothafucka, I' mma start shrinking | |
| Each and every one of you niggas, bitches particles | |
| You walk in and get read like articles | |
| Shredding, I' mma teach all of ya' ll | |
| How to start poetry, beheading, of the headless Horsemen, nigga | |
| Read the perscription, try it once, instantaneous addiction | |
| If you ever wanna see me | |
| HORSEMEN, nigga, nigga, nigga |
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