BISHOP LAMONT - Ya Losing lyrics

rate me

Yeah, right here, what up bitches?

Mr. Sandman

War machine prototype

Now when I’m on the mic talking, I’m Richard Ramirez

Night stalker, it’s a murder when I make an appearance

Skywalker, light saber, rhymes

Say goodnight Taladega track, rapper recites sick of Poltergeist, head spinner

Great rapper, even better swimmer

Gotta beat this industry, it’s shark week, what’s for dinner?

See my fin up, you know I’m ‘bout to eat with the condiments

So much blood on the beach, the paramedics are vomiting

Supreme architect, sick as a porn set

I feel so alone, my competition isn’t born yet

Sworn to the code, I follow till I’m finito

These hoes wanna swallow my sword like it’s a freak show

He’s pretty good, I could beat him in my sleep though

I learned to play the game, you still need a fucking cheat code

So please don’t try to play me this week, bro

You never gonna make it like Shaq shooting a freak, yo

It’s been a problem, these rapper cockroaches is getting boiled

My clique is sick of you freshman, your milk is spoiled

I’m ‘bout to break, take up your space and your real estate

Kick you out your own shit, smash up your dinner plates

I’m probably tipping with my visions from the third eye

See your aura before a conversation, I’m so high

Enough to quantum leap the time space continuum

And hypnotize tomorrow with the motion of my pendulum

My spine is the crossing, it’s lost in disguises

Ballet of appalls, brainwashed of his desires

I’m a phantom, and it costs, you’d better step with some caution

Every round leads to brain cell loss and sheer exhaustion

I’m gravity, Christ, competition unseen

Bitch pointed out a vic and seen a fucked up team

In a blink I moved a whoop, they had a fucked up queen

Like a scene from a movie with a fucked up theme

We don’t believe in competition

Just more volunteers for the fucking mortician

See, we the victors bitch and you’re the victims

My gun brr the stick, I’m ha ha, ha, stick ‘em

See, we the real deal, we really killed bin Laden

Obama called us when that nigga got a problem

Nigga we the champs, y’all fools ain’t balling

Okay, it’s time to get down

Run up, rob you fools, I want my money right now

Like Jay Z Wentworth, like a jackal ….

Go ahead, call for backup, them niggas is desert

I’m a wizard bitch, you can’t defeat me

Workaholic alcoholic, just as seen on TV

So brolic anabolic, sprinkle steroids on my salad

Up and around the world, whole chest get blown

I drink muscle milk and sniff, it don’t explode

Turn up vengeance on you niggas, give you lumps and stitches

You stupid sons of bitches

My sick style’s relentless, my rhyme scheme is endless

You fucked up tremendous

And a wife beater, I’ll flip over your two seater

Maybe I should smoke you with my 9 mm

I told you niggas, nice and smooth, we run this here, ain’t shit you can do

Yo expendables, kill your own, that’s cruel

The technique is hazardous, rising like Lazarus

Meet the constant nigga like Jesus of that Nazareth

Scripture, over shadowy clip that

No Instagram, I can paint the picture

Literature, banana clips I spit to cheer

We major MC’s, you men mature