L.I.F.E. Long - Marshmallows lyrics

[Verse 1: Mazzi] Yo, you best to focus on the epitome of dopeness I swarm like locust on your whole crew that's bogus It ain't hard to show this. It ain't hard to tell Make your brain cells swell when I'm breaking out my shell And I leave you to dwell in a hip hop hell Where DJs have no arms and MCs are tongueless Spray cans are empty and markers are inkless B-boys are crippled with crutches or legless So respect this or that'll be your situation Predicament you're facing. I'll make your reality Change drastically, batter glee rapidly Bring it to you and your faculty. I'd rather be Chilling ever after, living happily. Instead, I see s**ers with more front than backbone They perpetrate, I elevate to crack domes with fat poems Now recognize I wreck your eyes So don't sleep or fantasize, daydreamers [Verse 2: L.I.F.E. Long] I take my position in the form of lotus When I focus my optics to see through the bogus And [?] present, but misrepresenting Can't perform on sets like impotence in the act of s** But what do you expect when your knowledge and intellect don't connect? That's why, to sum, I be complex, leaving heads vexed So they can't understand the structure of my cerebral cortex That roll with force like a vortex unraveling Secret weapons when I'm battling Those who be babbling, leaving them in trouble with us paddling These snakes be rattling, try to poison me with venom But I sever with sharp tactics that point like cactus Knocking you off your axis of constant rotation on stations Global extermination for these insects that be faking and wasting time and energy Cats be coming with similar similes like the dress code at a**emblies That's why I a**emble these rhymes in order to verbally manslaughter Those who can't fit in my poetical quota, it's over [Interlude: Pumpkinhead] It's over, haha. It's over, yeah [Hook: Mr. Metaphor] This goes out to my mans and my mellows Who walk the streets with snakes and armadillos Puffing trees, lighting up weeping willows MCs are soft like pillows—they marshmallows This goes out to my fellows and amigos Who rocking crowds and bruising mics like egos To all my peoples, to all my Don Dadas Who blow the spot up and smoke the pot up and push the product [Verse 3: Pumpkinhead] Through the angle I see things, these self-proclaimed kings of the ring Are like a one-night fling, so I bring the static like cling Merciless like Ming I don't sing—my flock rocks it, got it locked like the bing From Rikers to Elmira, my crew breathes hellfire Methane gas inhaled fast—catch a brain blast See more colors than a stained gla** window Original Blunted cats who love indo, rub elbows with black widows Beat anacondas like congas Went to Africa and joined a headhunting tribe of Rwanda [?] lie to bull-ock/Bullock like Sandra To get high, I start brushfires in a huge crop of ganja I rhyme ill, sharp like porcupine quills, give you spine chills Don't get it twisted. Pumpkinhead ain't dead—just my lines k** Hip hop is a full-time job—you weren't a**igned sk**s You stink like landfills, follow me like entrails (Ha) [Verse 4: Mr. Metaphor] I'm stalking tracks like celery, stomping on the melody With clarity, I cause a**ault and battery I got a rhyme gallery that's bigger than the galaxy I'll burn your faculty and your cavalry happily You need first aid kits I'm scarring up your platelets. It's out-f**ing-rageous how I state this I'm greater than the Greatest Dane and when you state his name I flow longer than the greatest rain in the Serengeti plains Storming cats and dogs, then the dialogues are pouring MCs be more boring than Imus in the Morning I just finished touring foreign lands, crossed the shores Stand baked and dance. Now I'm blasting out your TASCAMs With verbal backhands that's putting heads through CAT scans When I crash-lands a line and tap dance on your mind [Verse 5: Abnormal] Flip the vernaculars, inclined to set it off with every line Equivocating every rhyme at every drop of a dime Don't procrastinate ‘cause I've got the faster blade In a task to castrate before you rappers masturbate Cast a plague over you cats who masquerade Fascinate and elevate disaster raids Past the gates of heaven with a spliff and roller skates Leave the diamond-studded MCs on golden tapes Hold the weight, control the soul of all the fake Roll on stage and dislocate your shoulder blade My rehearsal of words is like the dispersal of bird The lyrical third degree black belt with metaphors and verbs Swinging a sword, bringing down the overlord Stabbing metaphors, pour peroxide on open sores I take rappers by the fours, serve the first three subliminally Alter the mind of the last MC ever so pa**ionately It'd be my name that he calls While he goes back to his crib and starts playing with his balls It's like that, yo [Hook: Mr. Metaphor] (x2) This goes out to my mans and my mellows Who walk the streets with snakes and armadillos Puffing trees, lighting up weeping willows MCs are soft like pillows—they marshmallows This goes out to my fellows and amigos Who rocking crowds and bruising mics like egos To all my peoples, to all my Don Dadas Who blow the spot up and smoke the pot up and push the product