Apathy - 1,000 Grams lyrics

rate me

"Three, two, one, contact!"

[Chorus: x4]

[Apathy:] "Representin' like what"

[Biggie:] "1,000 grams of uncut to the gut"

[Verse 1:]

I'm the type that'll keep my Nikes extra white

Like seein' God's girls in fluorescent light

Plug camcorder cords in electrical fixtures

Take sensual kisses with identical sisters

(And they better give up the ass) Celibate bitches

Are gettin' held under water like developin' pictures

Incredible spittin', got your skeleton twitchin'

Your head'll be twistin' like a demonic medical condition

'Till you vomit and your body is liftin' off of the bed

In position of a crucifixion with your arms spread (You're all dead)

I'm hip-hop's apocalypse, let up and Ap claims the crown

Faggots, step up your rap game

Suckas get shook from shoves, chick checks

You're a bitch, you'll be cleanin' my kicks with Windex

I'm a gigolo, get a ho bitch that's rich

Or a little thick chick in a 626

I'm consistent, you know when Ap spits it's sick

Yeah, you're different...more like a chick with a dick

I'm a Pisces, addicted to girls, clothes, and Nikes

Material and spiritual, both worlds excite me

Flows fracture foes' flak jackets and rip fabric

A rap addict badder than you backpack faggots

Ap's a beast, the cake's like crack on streets

You swear that you deep, but you can't rap on beat, bitch

[Chorus]

[Verse 2:]

Stop the muthafuckin' pressure 'fore the pipes all burst, the mic's don't work

The blows that I throw lift you right off Earth

You'll get...clocked in the face and rocket through space

Shout out your hood, watch your whole block get erased

A superhuman supersoldier, hotter than a supernova

Money multiplies like ??? with Super Soakers

A true rap addict, y'all don't never want static, homey

You'll be at home gettin' that homeopathic

Listen...I don't care if you Christian, Muslim or Catholic

God got a whole iPod filled with Ap's shit

Y'all came for cream but get very little

'Cause Ap reign supreme, y'all barely drizzle

Metaphysical, still count cheddar better than digital

Money machines runnin' the scenes, summon the fiends, I'm lovin' it though

Makin' an abundance of dough

Runnin' the show, pumpin' blow 'till I'm numb in the soul

A child from the 80's era, you couldn't paint it clearer

Grew up with moms snortin' cocaine off a mirror

Those are all the little things that make me me

Couldn't focus my brain and blamed A.D.D.

On the contrary, Ap is like mental level

Hence the mental state rate grows exponential

But, if y'all wanna brawl, better call Paul Wall

To fix all them teeth Ap knocked outta your jaw, punk

[Chorus]