Sammy Warm Hands - Definition of a Rap Flow (RA The Rugged Man contest) скачать в хорошем качестве

Sammy Warm Hands - Definition of a Rap Flow (RA The Rugged Man contest)

GET THE REMIX (feat. CASUAL of HIEROGLYPHICS):    • Redefine the Flow (Web Remix)   Split screen effect provided by Pop Motion Pictures. LYRICS: (updated and annotated on Rap Genius: http://rap.genius.com/Sammy-warm-hand...) i'll be a legend an american tale like fivel like an anthrax scare in the mail my rivals might cower in their boots, i devour the troops scour the scene with a scowl while i tower like eiffel fuck a sneak peak i'm a sight for a sore eyeful like chief keef reading lines out of the bible i rhyme for survival, never fired a rifle never hunted for game i've got nothing to gain from hundreds of fussing, buzzing buzzards all fucking gunning for fame i'm running a flood to your brain like an abundance of blood in your vein you're too conventional, emcees are one in the same two dimensional beings like you were stuck in a frame you're a sucker to feign, i'll redefine the flow with non-linear rhyme schemes and i don't know maybe i'll bust with substance or speak uniquely like i'm here for a myriad reasons or merely an inkling of purpose like chuck said, if i can't teach i shouldn't even open my mouth to speak but i reach them loud and they seek to find a beast of another kind has breeched the minds of a dumbed down sound bound by cartoon delinquency confounding the crowd with a fine tuned frequency and if you can't speak to me with decency go fuck yourself if you can reach it easily 'cause anybody can rap for like five minutes straight half of these cats can't for their lives illustrate any relatable stories or even tangible evidence of their debatable glories at the hand of benevolence but what's the benefit of breaking the mold? inevitably i won't settle until i'm taking control if you're faking the funk don't fucking meddle with us i keep my mind sharp, your shiny metal will rust you'll be craving vapor, chasing the paper, defacing the face of the sacred for status you're a disgrace and i'm taking you fakers down like a fader 'cause i'm a master debater slaving away to the beat while you're saving on labor for cheap thought you could cheat like you were dropping the heat and shot a proper video with props you got in the street but no amount of graffiti or train tracks can hide the lack of even fleeting meaning in lame tracks you claim facts but lack in actual action i hate your band, you understand? there's no passion, all fashion you bomb sets like open mic stand up i've blessed this contest with presence like santa and i planned to skip the first chorus but that biz markee shit is damn good for us!! i'll destroy 'em all i'm whiter than sun dried bird shit but I'm a bonafide rhyme writer and unsigned merchant my lines surprise, remind tongue tied virgins no bus ride verses are worthy of worship fuck a punch line, wiping the floor with damn rappers people pleading for s'more — toasted graham crackers like a flea i'll leave em bleeding conceding proceeding to flee and i'm reading their pleas impeding their glee as i please whether OG oldies or HNIC i'll roast old fogies and each MIC the way i see, we enjoyed the same scene but now i've made a vow to destroy the mainstream fuck a Wilhelm, i wanna hear Drake scream but chumps can't cut the mustard man like Rake's scene i'll be stuck in your ear— my CD's a corn holder another stroke of genius ivy league porn folder coming in for the kill, until we face senility i've got more Techniques than DJ Abilities the pity epitome on a path of futility without any excuse for such a lack of humility not a shred of credibility, you bet i'm precise and i drop so much shit you've gotta flush it twice i'm a sad clown bad summer hair cut had it down 'til my midlife crisis flared up but you're like a seat belt with no buckles i'd rather watch a documentary about toe knuckles i'll mock you readily without provocation i'm the remedy inoculation for indoctrination of fast food rap, crass boom bap's back CRUDE slap to the face, kick to your ass crack crush a battle act, write a finer haiku even the bpm is higher than your IQ i won't fight you throwing left or right blows i'll murder any motherfucker when it comes to live shows the greatest thing since resealable oreos better than blow jobs at truck stop glory holes no place to run, no place to hide 'cause my farts even stink outside For more music from Sammy Warm Hands, visit http://take92.com.