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Elements Lyrics

from Tical 2000 Judgementday

"Elements" is track #5 on the album Tical 2000 Judgementday. It was written by Porter, David / Hayes, Isaac / Smith, Clifford / Hunter, Jason S..
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"Elements" is track #5 on the album Tical 2000 Judgementday. It was written by Porter, David / Hayes, Isaac / Smith, Clifford / Hunter, Jason S..
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There, there, one more game
Yo, uh huh, uh huh, star

Surround sounder, blunt smokin', Remy downer
Hip-hop sizzar slingin' my raw in your flounder
You get skidawed, undertakin', undergrounders
This lyricist, lounge with low, that be lounger

Aliens is out of townish, fuck applause
Niggas clap now with forty pounders and forty-fours
Is it all, fair in love with war
Young ones with guns, acting like they taking yours, uh
Live by the sword, they gonna die by the sword, uh

My vocal cords break the laws that apply to nature
Low and these niggas love to hate ya
Request the Henney straight no chaser
Twin towerin' I skyscrape ya, now gimme yours

Trifled disciple, arch rival reppin' with weapons that homicidal
Star leaves you marked from the start like tribal scars, Allah punk
I'm hazardous as a bomb and arms spinnin' like Christ
Recitin' psalms in the streets of Babylon

Verbs I gather well, standard data shells
My squad camouflage your wealth like the Bible with parables
With the navigator, spittin' razor sharp
Breath laser data that'll tickle you now, but slay you later

On this one call me Lee Major
Million dollar man, bionic or professor chronic
Still not a player, I just fuck a lot, the panty raider
Guess shorty's mad, they curse you wild on your sky pager
Stankin' ass

Yo Mr. Big Mouth, better duck down or bite the bullet
You niggas got guns but you scared to death to pull it
Bet if I pull my gun I'm gon' squeeze
I'm startin' at your head, son, and stoppin' at your knees

I hate your screwmugs, rumble counterfeit thugs
Niggas want mine, bet they come and get it in blood
Fat potential, gave birth to a corrupt mental
Foul thoughts paralyzin' temples, it's just that simple

You better come with your best gun
Niggas be holdin', it's all war, no fun
Niggas be bowlin', you niggas under pressure now
My squads down for whatever with whoever now
Let's get it on

Best to come with your best gun
Niggas be rollin', it's all war, no fun
Niggas be holdin', you niggas under pressure now
My squads down for whatever with whoever now
Let's get it on

Arm leg shots to hit the spot like a four fifth glock
We got this hip-hop shilock and all you clique got was lip lock
Heavy heat, steady street sweepin' your peeps
Hawks, machete chops puttin' cease to your petty fleets

This raw rebel got more metal than pop and rock groups
When my glock shoots the scores settled
A ground attack, I'm bound to clap rounds of rap
Clowns are found flat, face down around the map

Simple minds, cripple smiles, my rhymes are four five
The size oh two nines combine, can't even tickle mine
I told you once, I told your ass a thousand times, chump
Body in the trunk, stay in line punk, fucking with your mind?

Yo, you be the actual, sixteen bars, comin' after you
Never go against my team, they might embarrass you
Slit-slang terrorist talk, fully armed
Put your hands up, I'm a put a hole in your paws

Ruin your side show, eyes low, brains fried from hydro
Two choices, bass off or either die slow
We all scholars when it's time to clean a dirty dollar
Attack the boards, it's like a rotweiler

Niggas comin' out they shoot like they usher
These motherfuckers on the run, and they socks from
The bounty hunter, iron lungster, rain and thunder
Here come the lightning now I'm strikin' back at niggas bitin'

Pushin' buttons just to step away from self-destruction
Inch and a half away from touchin' somethin', suckin' away from bustin'
Ya'll brothers laugh now and cry later
I rap from Alpha to Omega, sixty four to Sega

Whoopin' that ass, walk you dogs through the lookin' glass
Been burnin' MC's since cookin' class
Makin' it hot like the summer in the crackspot
With blacktops, my nickle slot, triple bar, hit the jackpot

On each block, I'm the remedy, send them back to me
After detock, shorty got knuckles in the Reebok
Plus we got a problem with the Benz
What's the problem with the Benz?
She want the six-hundred, but she ain't got the ends

You better come with your best gun
Niggas be holdin', it's all war no fun
Niggas be bowlin', you niggas under pressure now
My squads down for whatever with whoever now
Let's get it on

Songwriters
PORTER, DAVID / HAYES, ISAAC / SMITH, CLIFFORD / HUNTER, JASON S.

Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Royalty Network

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