DESCRIPTION:
https://www.facebook.com/officialbaileymatheson
@baileymatheson

Lyrics:

Uh-huh,
yeah.
Okay, I'm done playin' games with you fuck boys.
You go hard like some truck toys.
I go hard like a locomotive, eatin' tracks for lunch boy,
double entendre, the best in my genre.
I'm a Lamborghini in a world full of Hondas.
So zip it you Civics, I don't need no critics.
My flow is oh so mystic,
yo flow is oh so witless.
'Bout to kill this beat, can I please get a witness?
Instrumental mixes? I convert into a hitlist.
They askin' what happened.
The rappin' assassin is happily laughin'
and rapidly smashin' these tracks to a fraction.
It's hard to imagine, I put it in action,
you whack and you slackin',
you lackin' in fashion, I'm colder than Aspen.
Spit heat like a dragon, hop on the bandwagon
then I'll get it crackin' and you will start clappin'
and if you don't know, rap is passion.
Uh, and now you know it,
but please don't call me a rapper,
rather call me a poet.
I know some people wanna quote it
and some people wanna loathe it,
but it doesn't change the fact that I'm verbosely heroic.
You can't mess with my diction,
where's the competition?
I'm a cool cat amongst some uncool kittens;
gotta musical addiction and a musical affliction,
but most importantly, I got musical ambition.
What? Musical ambition..
Okay, okay, musical ambition..
Uh-huh, musical ambition..
Whaat? Ambition..
& I won't deny it,
I'm musically reliant.
Y'all don't wanna mess with me.
I got these rappers fussin' at me,
because they ain't got nothin' on B.
Let's take two shots for Tupac.
I'm too hot, they're too not;
I'm fresh like a juice box,
they're fresh like some used socks
after a long day of hard work,
followed by a work out at the gym
where you lost your shoes
and you had to walk home on a rainy night,
all muddy and what not, you feel me?
Real stinky like.
Okay, now back to the beat.
All these other rap boys are just lackin' the heat
and actually, if you're askin' me,
I think they belong in the back of the street
with Nick Carter, I spit harder and smarter
than all of y'all.
I wish you the best of luck in beating me, Mazel tov,
cause I'm the bomb and spit fire just like a molotov.
I'm torturin' beats, this is the hip-hop Holocaust.
Yeah, lyrical genocide.
I chow down on sounds like it's ethiopian dinner time.
Colder than the winter time and I've been identified
by too many haters, but they ain't no friends of mine.
So I be on my rhythm grind until I reach the end of time
and when I reach the end of time,
I'll rap across the finish line.
Now Lord, replenish mine..
Replenish your what?
My life, just crossed the finish line..
Whoa,
okay,
I'm baaack..
R-E-S-U-double R-E-C-T-I-O-N,
I'm back again,
so you should tell a friend to tell a friend
to tell a hoe to tell a bro,
if he don't know,
I tend to show
a potent flow
when I'm in the cogent zone

download: https://soundcloud.com/baileymatheson/white-tiger