What Economy [Rap]

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Sa

SA (also known outside of Japan as Samurai Attack) is a Japanese punk rock band. Their style of music has been described (in the liner notes of their own releases) as Oi! Punk. more »

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Left over
Some best vocals to let them off of my head
I'm on my metamorphosis to best
I focus like I'm threading a needle with my rhymes
I'm peeing with precise aim from the heights
It's hitting the water closet
You picking the fight and you losing
You thinking you pirate class
You think you got pyroclastic flow
You need private class from me
You just a fiber glass without a core, or pore to sweat
You say you coldest with a flow full of holes loaded
You got them hoes all over the scene
You see profit it in flex
You five foot or less
You sound like a midget wanna grow, no offense
I sound like the F word inside your fence
That's fear or family, you can decide what I'm in
I say you leave me to myself and my family and let me write my songs
I'm not harm, I'm defense

Hm, what economy?
I don't know shit about shit
But I'm not for sale
You call it criminal offence
But I'm about to say
What I want
Hm, what economy?
I don't know shit about shit
But I'm not for sale
You call it criminal offence
But I'm about to say
What I want

Step over, a bit more closer, forward
Trips over
You bit my toe to forehead
I trip over your testing kit for Covid
It's all over, even replica's are on and
Pissed off as I grudge to pay for all this
Blissed out, I can't rest too much to write in
Messiah can't sit and see the rioting
He might come down anyhow, we'll find him
Oh, maybe, no shake hand with ladies
They ask me if I'm straight
180
My baby knows, my state is lost
My cape or ball it is in top of your bowel
My capabilities they come from above
My paper for thesis, they never can bore
Might pay for these speakers I cannot afford
My crave for these eateries leaking me, I'm on D-I-E-T

Hm, what economy?
I don't know shit about shit
But I'm not for sale
You call it criminal offence
But I'm about to say
What I want
Hm, what economy
I don't know shit about shit
But I'm not for sale
You call it criminal offence
But I'm about to say
What I want

Myths over the facts? You sober?
I got doubts on you man
Now I call myself soba
Son of barbaric aid with my lyrics you know that
I'm a graffiti drawn with a half litre bucket full of talent
You lucky little brat you still lacking
You lachrymating waiting for protagonist with napkins
You tapping out insane
You packing simultaneously
Time to time you ditched me
I think think it's time to kiss me goodbye
I ain't leaving, you are
Believe me
You wanted
You have it
Your hustle was nothing
You're cussing for not having a car or four meals
My hustle was walking all the way
Had no wheels
No means, nothing
Still, my pen move up and down
'Til I drown, I spit facts
If cover was game, you're bikini, I'm purdah
Sit back boy

Hm, what economy?
I don't know shit about shit
But I'm not for sale
You call it criminal offence
But I'm about to say
What I want
Hm, what economy?
I don't know shit about shit
But I'm not for sale
You call it criminal offence
But I'm about to say
What I want

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