Chief Kamachi - Clock Keep Tickin\' lyrics

rate me

Yeah, haaa

C'mon, Kamachi!

Yeah, Philadelphia

I'm back y'all

Hip-Hop

C'mon, I'm back y'all

C'mon, I'm back y'all

The Clock Keep Tickin'

Mach keep spittin'

And stars is written everybody just listen

Rhyme thought travel at a tremendous speed

Clouds of smoke through natural blends of weed

Yeah, years underground, Mach move clandestine

Thug Kundalini rise than they wrap around the spine

Yogi with a handgun, name author Eveline

New Year's Eve night, stranded in Babylon

French kiss poison piranha's in the Amazon

Levitate over the projects with the cameras on

No trips to Italy to tell 'em that I am a Don

Celebrate on Space Mountains, bring the whole fam along

Smoke 70 grams, now that light dim is gon'

Pink elephants wondering what am I on?

I hear my voice, muthafucking jam is on

Cold crush angel dust, mic marathon

Final Call concepts from Young Farrakhan

Watch for the terror bomb

Stroll in a era calm

Medical card, charge for the marijuan'

Soul sick, everybody needing to hear a song

Yo, dirt weed in a scented jar

Blood on the Scimitar on my way to Dethlehem

Following the dimmest star

Demonic czar looking for a gem to spark

Trained for the Afterlife, twelve hour seminar

Lunch break, belly-dancers at a swinger's bar

Estropip got a eye for who the winners are

Bored, mack look nothing like a Minotaur

Full pack, blow the back outta

Look at me strange, rap slang bembezar

Tryna travel to the moon in a rented car

Back on the green, last putt to win the par

Tee hood, shank, slowly open up a scar

Organ donors, death diplomas

Whole graduating class lay stretched in comas

Belly of the Beast, smoke hundred L's with Jonah

Ten gold medals, back home from Barcelona

Yo, what did the green pyramids seal, back of the bill

Only need one eye to see if you real

Musical morgue, ice box keeping them chill

Play the trumpet of Jibrail

Cold killer straight from Brazil

In the booth writing murder tryna scrape up a deal

Selling 8-balls of rap, don't make 'em a will

Camouflage Sunday suits, dressed to kill

Underground legend, Mach got the freshest appeal

Gypsy lady, once told me my message was I'll

Gave me seven free rides on the carnival wheel

Y'all can't do it, let the most honorable spill

Black hoody rap, grew up on that Wu-Tang feel

Hip-Hop back on trial, the bill is a trill

Behind wires and steel, Messiah will build

Touch your forehead, now you can acquire the skill

Pray to Rakim Allah when I sit on the hill