Tony Touch, La The Darkman - La the Darkman Freestyle lyrics
[Tony Touch, La The Darkman - La the Darkman Freestyle lyrics]
Yeah, Tone Touch, Power Cypha MC's
In Jamaican tone yeah
Ya mon know alot of dat cum from killen
I run da place, take it from me
(real gun talk) the fortified nine millime
Yo Darkman King, doin my thing the bee sting
Assassinate your whole team wit
The vocal red beam sold yourself a dream
I sharpen my script as an arrow
Professional and live, my style double barrel
I Self Lord, Master natural disaster
Holy sling to splash ya
Dark force to thrash ya
Blind eyes, poligimous got four wives
Inside my square, rappers get buried alive
We never even
Put you in the dirt still breathin
Perfection, the gold mic touch dun
I'm blessin flames lit the flesh
Shot at some of the best
When Dell played me at my rest
Stabbed a kid in his chest
Now I got respect, runnin through boroughs
Hoods and towns
Niggas pull they pants down when
I show the four pound
Verbally, fantastic, cocked my rhyme
Blast it
Trapicante classic, gun talk gymnastic
The Bronx back to Brooklyn got
My slang cold cookin
Pull up in my four hundred
Mad bitches be lookin and I'm a rude boy
Wit lyrics to seek and destroy
My gold tec gonna blast niggas
From here to Quebec
Yo I'm Bronx-born, Brooklyn raised
You niggas get more than grazed
When I blaze my gauge
It's not a arcade, dun my gun is real as AIDS
I'm Holyfield, rappers is Tyson these days
Darkman
In Jamaican tone yeah
Ya mon know alot of dat cum from killen
I run da place, take it from me
(real gun talk) the fortified nine millime
Yo Darkman King, doin my thing the bee sting
Assassinate your whole team wit
The vocal red beam sold yourself a dream
I sharpen my script as an arrow
Professional and live, my style double barrel
I Self Lord, Master natural disaster
Holy sling to splash ya
Dark force to thrash ya
Blind eyes, poligimous got four wives
Inside my square, rappers get buried alive
We never even
Put you in the dirt still breathin
Perfection, the gold mic touch dun
I'm blessin flames lit the flesh
Shot at some of the best
When Dell played me at my rest
Stabbed a kid in his chest
Now I got respect, runnin through boroughs
Hoods and towns
Niggas pull they pants down when
I show the four pound
Verbally, fantastic, cocked my rhyme
Blast it
Trapicante classic, gun talk gymnastic
The Bronx back to Brooklyn got
My slang cold cookin
Pull up in my four hundred
Mad bitches be lookin and I'm a rude boy
Wit lyrics to seek and destroy
My gold tec gonna blast niggas
From here to Quebec
Yo I'm Bronx-born, Brooklyn raised
You niggas get more than grazed
When I blaze my gauge
It's not a arcade, dun my gun is real as AIDS
I'm Holyfield, rappers is Tyson these days
Darkman