Testo Stop What Ya Doin' - Apathy
Testo della canzone Stop What Ya Doin' (Apathy), tratta dall'album Honkey Kong
Good evening
I wanna take this time to introduce Apathy, featuring Celph Titled
We're gonna get rough, rugged and raw for a minute
Oh, who me? I go by the name of DJ Premier
So I guess we should do what we do, when we do what we do, aight?
Alright, stop what ya doin', cause I'm about to ruin
The image and the style that you're used to
Cause I'm about to ruin
The image and the style that you're used to
I got an appetite for destruction, Ap is back
Murder beats, get hoes, there's an app for that
Grab the battle axe, jacked X-Clan's pink Cadillac
(Sissy!) I'm a Garbage Pail Kid doing the Cabbage Patch
Play chief, get shot with a stray arrow
You suckers imitate more rappers than Jay Pharoah
Rocking gay apparel, them jeans'll make you sterile
I'm steady stocking that ammo and cockin' the double barrel
Rock a show hard as an army of Viking warriors
Storming your little village then pillage 'til we victorious
Stories of us painted on the walls of caves
An image of your bitch sucking on my balls for days
I'm like Genghis Khan on the back of a horse
Or Billy Joel with a bottle of Jack on the dash of the Porsche
Blast with a force of Soviet Rockets and cold wars
You're on tour bagging whores with cold sores
Do the wisdom, fuck bitches to the rhythm
I'm hard as nuclear fission, a student of pugilism
Which means Ap'll knock your motherfucking head off
I'm logical like Spock, drink vodka like Checkov
Alright, stop what ya doin', cause I'm about to ruin
The image and the style that you're used to
Cause I'm about to ruin
The image and the style that you're used to
Pirate mentality, teeth holding a knife in place
Meet me on a rap tour and a raptor might bite your face
And what would happen is you'll get shipped out in packages
Thank God I keep the meat tenderizer in my cabinet
But truthfully (what?) My vision varies
I go from a visionary to a vicious leader of killer militaries
Using old machine guns, why need better gats?
These'll still burn holes in motherfuckers like a treasure map (Blat!)
Think that Celph's soft, and I'mma just stare at y'all
Cause I'm Cyclops, and yes the sunglasses are off
So get a bulletproof armor suit and chin guard
Army surplus galore, I'm throwing more than ten darts (Yeah)
My prestige is presidential
I'm prevalent when you pressing the pressure, preppy, I'm prepping my pistol
I'll cast a pyramid hex
That leave you dickheads covered in blood like period sex
Alright, stop what ya doin', cause I'm about to ruin
The image and the style that you're used to
Cause I'm about to ruin
The image and the style that you're used to
I break through all barriers trust Ap'll bury ya
Nowadays rappers sound like Cartoon characters (Hilarious)
Raps I write cover an area with paragraphs
Are larger than aircraft carriers
Swearing yeah my middle finger express my hand gesture (Fuck you)
You a she-man dressed in a dress like Fran Drescher
Cro-Magnon with a crowbar, might eat you
Pro with a Magnum, keep you in check like Nike sneakers
I'm white as wife beaters on white trash on cop shows
Selling stolen Picassos in front of Costco's
This is the Demigodz gospel: unholy and hostile
Acidic apocalyptic apostles
Pop those snot-nosed thugs who act
Mail-order a gun and they afraid to pop the bubble wrap
My gun powder's dusting 'em, my guns and them is troublesome
My Glock alone is like a foster home 'cause I be sonning them
Alright, stop what ya doin', cause I'm about to ruin
The image and the style that you're used to
Cause I'm about to ruin
The image and the style that you're used to
Credits
Writer(s): Christopher Martin, Chad Bromley, Vic Mercer
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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