Lirik Lagu La The Darkman Freestyle - Tony Touch
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featuring La the Darkman
*send corrections directly to typist*
[La the Darkman]Yeah Tone Touch Power Cypha MC's*In Jamaican tone* Yeah ya mon know alot of dat cum from killenI run da place take it from me (real gun talk)The fortified nine millimeYo Darkman King doin my thing the bee stingAssassinate your whole team wit the vocal red beamSold yourself a dream I sharpen my script as an arrowProfessional and live, my style double-barrelI Self Lord, Master natural disasterHoly sling to splash ya, dark force to thrash yaBlind eyes, poligimous got four wivesInside my square, rappers get buried aliveWe never even, put you in the dirt still breathinPerfection, the gold mic touch dun, I'm blessinFlames lit the flesh, shot at some of the bestWhen Dell played me at my rest, stabbed a kid in his chestNow I got respect, runnin through boroughs, hoods and townsNiggas pull they pants down when I show the four poundVerbally, fantastic, cocked my rhyme, blast itTrapicante classic, gun talk gymnasticThe Bronx back to Brooklyn got my slang cold cookinPull up in my four-hundred, mad bitches be lookinAnd I'm a rude boy, wit lyrics to seek and destroyMy gold tec gonna blast niggas from here to QuebecYo I'm Bronx-born, Brooklyn-raisedYou niggas get more than grazed, when I blaze my gaugeIt's not a arcade, dun my gun is real as AIDSI'm Holyfield, rappers is Tyson these days, Darkman
*send corrections directly to typist*
[La the Darkman]Yeah Tone Touch Power Cypha MC's*In Jamaican tone* Yeah ya mon know alot of dat cum from killenI run da place take it from me (real gun talk)The fortified nine millimeYo Darkman King doin my thing the bee stingAssassinate your whole team wit the vocal red beamSold yourself a dream I sharpen my script as an arrowProfessional and live, my style double-barrelI Self Lord, Master natural disasterHoly sling to splash ya, dark force to thrash yaBlind eyes, poligimous got four wivesInside my square, rappers get buried aliveWe never even, put you in the dirt still breathinPerfection, the gold mic touch dun, I'm blessinFlames lit the flesh, shot at some of the bestWhen Dell played me at my rest, stabbed a kid in his chestNow I got respect, runnin through boroughs, hoods and townsNiggas pull they pants down when I show the four poundVerbally, fantastic, cocked my rhyme, blast itTrapicante classic, gun talk gymnasticThe Bronx back to Brooklyn got my slang cold cookinPull up in my four-hundred, mad bitches be lookinAnd I'm a rude boy, wit lyrics to seek and destroyMy gold tec gonna blast niggas from here to QuebecYo I'm Bronx-born, Brooklyn-raisedYou niggas get more than grazed, when I blaze my gaugeIt's not a arcade, dun my gun is real as AIDSI'm Holyfield, rappers is Tyson these days, Darkman
