Typical Cats - Qweloquiallisms | Текст песни

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• Typical Cats
• Qweloquiallisms

For the hell of it
You spit irrelevant
Delicate flows
Speak child
Intelligent, Mellow shit kills fellowships bellowing freestyles

Smile. Punch lines can crush the spines of the skeptics
Perfection stepped in
Three guesses who the best is

Check it, Check it
Hello, Hello
Yo Yo
I am, I ams dumb, dumb
Can, Can Qwel, Qwel rock, rock?
Well, Well um, um
Fear, fear kids, kids
Cans, cans spray paint now, now
Look out below, where's that flow you were shoutin' bout so loud?

Crush flows in mudslides
Ha ha that raw with punchlines
Funny like when a thug's son dies at moonrise
I'm sunshine
Echos in graveyards are speakin' of us(Echoed)

Seekin to touch those rainbow demons breathin' beneath graffiti buffs
Feed the needy
Fucking bleeding down the side of silver snakes
Holler in a hollow "save God" (safe guard?)
Dollars in graveyards fill your graves

Listen through submission and sadistic cultures
And demon's guns surround our suns like Copernicus-tic vultures
Soldier's clothing
Golden swollen
Souls in carcass hearses
Curse in first-person
And search for serpents in our verses

Your crew bleeds too profusely
Who gave groupies loosely
Standing over the remains of a slain fifth-grade class mate
Who's got cooties
Excuse me, emcees
Pretending not to envy me
But readily sending me these seas of frenzied centipedes

Motherfuckers lack intensity
And can't rhyme either
I see words, split 'em in twice with reverbs
Become a believer

You blow like you're Pop Rocks with 3 liters
The shit's on
Snap your fat lackin' tracks in half
Mine are big-boned
These styles be free

Qwel sees above weak emcees
Decibel levels
And infinitesimal
Testicle Jokes

Investin'in broke for lines
Not as dope as mine
Needs work
Rehearse your speech slurs
I won like three thirds
Censor the census
On my five senses
And unisex the mutants
'Till the glitches in my wrist digits salute the richest humans

The worst heard herbal verbalist
My thirst for herbs further disturbs this itch
Servin' kids, track
Tourniquets
Smashin' furnishings after class
With the get in your ass pass, rappin backwards
Askin' for herbs and the last laugh, laugh

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