435 3 часа назад

Текст песни Masters of Illusion - Back Up Kid

Masters of Illusion - Back Up Kid слова песни

The electricity shall now be passed through your bodyuntil you are dead {*sounds of an electric chair*}[Chorus: Kool Keith]Back up kid, 40 billion hundred power wattsBack up kid, 40 billion hundred powerBack up kid, 40 billion hundred power wattsBack up kid, 40 billion hundred power[Kool Keith]You on my pubic, I tell you kid, that`s on my testiclesI slice that style up like big {?} and vegetablesYou know I`m legend though you clown man stiff and blowI got the big stage, no props for yo` small showI light your anus up, pee upon your whole spectrumThen damage all butt with missiles to your girl`s rectumNo matter how where, with activator on your hairYou could be weaved up, toes to your sleeve upADAT`s work you got static, turn your Nieve upYou on 4-track, tic-tac, I still wipe buttcrackBattle me now your cornflake style, chocolate cowYou no test catnip slop runnin down your vestMaster of what, your kitty styles fall buttIncest, you settle for lessYo lick my wee-wee, your sister tried to watch me pee-peeOn New Year`s, panties down, drunk drinkin beersYou get asked up, records get faxed upYour booty get torn your heiny`s all waxed up[Chorus] - 2X[Kool Keith]I see MC`s waste time and vinyl, your point is finalYou trapped in the cage and now pregnant by a green rhinoLubriderm is `pon the cage it`s still OctagonYour girl in tights, panties made of chiffonLike Ted Bundy and Kemper, I burn your wig this winterNo matter how hard you are, I still paint that backThen draw some pictures of Space Ghost on yo` asscrackWith Scooby Doo, Fred and Wilma watchin Dino doo-dooYour style is no flake, them beige boots are kinda weakYou suck nuts and lick my balls everytime I speakYou at the Apollo, you wack easy act to followYou get no props, for skirts suckin Charms popsYou on my penis, still wearin shell-toe AdidasI`m in your building, like paint chips off your ceilingFake face, yo pack up, start watchin ScarfaceI strike your tour bus, catch you naked smokin dustRip your papers at halftime, your rented rhymes are rustYou got no wins, for crabs in your used BenzExtra mic stands for Taco Bell burns yo` friendsLouisiana hot sauce, tops your anus bossGorilla Magilla, he`s in the windowYour style is for sale, sperm drippin off your pillow[Chorus] - 2X{*"back" - scratched before end*}

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