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6 Shooter (feat. Purpose, J. Stark, Bitter Be.. - text


Yo, this joint right here is dedicated to all the motherfuckers who fell off (yeah)
And the motherfuckers who’s about to fall off

How to turn the bass up to the place
Jump in the window shatter [?]
Its new witty banter
My man a benefactor
Phizzle hits are bangin
Illy lets get it crackin’
Twist the fabric of time with a rhyme my style is systematic
I scribble something so ill you wish that you didn’t capture
Sprinkle the shit with a little magic
When you and your friends rhyme its bedtime, snoring
Whether or not I headline
Yes I’m supporting
Flavour drip through the speaker when I’m recording
If charisma’s a disease I could be dead by the morning
My man weird the entire fuck out here
Lights up, time’s up, fire up the sound gear
But I refuse the recklessness but I don’t dispute the evidence
I just reload the click
And shoot the messenger

I shoot straight from the water’s edge
One stroke get your thought all wet
You getting served like you haven’t ordered yet
I score the ref [?] of putting verses in the morgue
Until my services are more sought after than a whore’s
I’m getting honey buddy hey getting yours
I’m getting paid to pen and page and add a little more
We smack a stage until it needs to be restored
And I do this shit because I love it not because I’m bored
Moved away from Boe? but it’s pumping through my heart
Now I represent the Frankston line and going fucking hard
Aiming for the stars been rolling from the start
Now I’m sharing tracks motherfuckers holding golden [?]
Wild animal mentality
And haters getting mad at rappers doubling their salary
They’re talking shit I ain’t hearing what they telling me
The colour that they seem greener than a stick of celery

Introductions aside
You asking
Who am I?
I’m the owner of a gallery, a tour guide
And you could leave with stained shirts
Because trying to understand how my brain works is suicide
I got a beautiful mind covered in sewer slime
And if you look a little closer there’s a [?] inside
To get past the putrid grime like few have tried
Then you could possibly ruin your eyes
Am I crazy?
You decide
All I know is my rhymes are so pimped that I write them in a suit and tie
I’m superman flying through the sky
But you guys wouldn’t recognise a hero in a new disguise
Life’s like shooting the dice
Or gambling
But you just rambling, standing with your hand on the mic
I ain’t battling an amateur
Get your calibre right
I’ll leave you pussies afraid like you’re Hannibal’s wife

Check the floodgates (what)
That door needs closing shut
They’re like a fuckface in porn scenes
I know they suck
Put ‘em on parole so they can walk free to go get fucked
Get your own style cause yours seems to be clones of us
Window character
Boring stoner cunts
It’s so embarrassing
It’s like the Portuguese showing up
The Spanish with Brazil
The whole East is owned by us
I [?] crashed at will
Like torpedoes blowing up
Hit the battleship (boom)
And all fleets that floated sunk
Quicker than a cattle whip on raw meat drove to cuts
The prodigal son since 14 token bus
Still tropical son with tall trees and coconuts
My art sells for peanuts
Like poor street folk that bust
Can't tell [?]
With more heat than smoking guns (bam)
One of the finest
If you fought me you only just survived it
You’re Irish
Four-leaf clover luck

If you were gifted then it must have been a lump of coal
But still you’re full of yourself like one of them Russian dolls
If you’re shooting for the top you should adjust the goals
If I walked a mile in your shoes it would crush my soul
Saw you live
Who would pay though to book you
If you tried to get some girls there
Then they overlooked you
Men, men, men
Like that lame show with Kutcher
A total sausage fest
Like a trade show for butchers
This is Adelaide talking
I’m an animal
Coursing through my preys
Natural habitat stalking
Just hungry
If there’s beef then I’m jabbing my fork in
At the mere fucking mention of a battle they walking
And if not
Then they got more than your standard deathwish (weird)
Most of them are sweeter than a candy necklace
Always got something left to write like I was ambidextrous
And if my music’s declined
How come my fans accept it?

Jumping up with blunt babes
Rock it with a verse
Hopping off the runway
Dropping in a bird
Either way I’m rolling
Optimal at worst
You ain’t seeing me unless you got binoculars at work (beeatch)
But don’t get mad about it
Be a man about it
Chin up
Its brand-spanking
Hand bag the hand-me-downers
Swap those rhymes and swallow pride
They still paying dues off of borrowed time
And cue my flows monsoon
You pass dog food
Barking up the wrong eucalypt
Six shooters grip mics
We see red and blast like a hoover crib
Higher than thread counts on your goose-down dooners bitch
Its big kahuna shit
And I ain’t heard of your small fries and big towns
Man up or sit down
Mercenary’s bitch
Hired guns on the disc
Bound to kill by the contract
And keep putting hits out

Text přidala Eva01

Video přidala Eva01

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