NON-PROPHETS - Tolerance Level lyrics

rate me

To the best of my knowledge

I guess that I'm blessed and I'm holy (yo, hold up, hold up)

Yo Joe Beats, what's the purpose of you stoppin' me?

(I don't know man I want you to kick the raps

You were kickin' a long time ago, not this emo shit)

Aight, aight

I was getting props when I first started to flow

Makin' this music wrecking shop like a retarded vocational student

Didn't know it at the time, that the shit made me look stupid

Rockin' pro-black rhymes, *oh but the* the devil made me do it

I never gave two shits bout rockin new kicks

I ain't the type to wear something just cause the shoe fits

I make moves quick, till you head feet first

I dig women who got more to get offa their chests than wet T-shirts

Rent the east herb, permit the west side

I'd rather eat dirt than ingest pride, my sixth sense shines

Less wack than Mos Def's pitiful incense vibe

You couldn't ghostwrite if your invisible ink pen died!

Now kick fresh rhymes, and think next time

Before you're paid to react and as an emcee I'm a character assassin

Paid to kill off all your made-for-TV rappin'

When the shit hits the fan, I'm a blame it on GG Allin

My tolerance level has peaked, and it's time for heads to get thrown

Just because I speak peace doesn't mean I can't throw no *jaunts* (I don't know.)

Now I stopped to build a bridge during my Agnostic pilgrimage

Lost my will to live so I shot and killed some kids

I'm just kiddin', no I'm not

*into* oral bestiality I'm just blowin' spots

And I got more back than acne, underside happy-go-lucky types

Monday Night Football fanatics, asscrack addicts with thunder bites

Got more bodies on my mic than my pistol

I ain't got a pistol but there's bodies on my mic (bullshit, you)

(It's true!) And Joe will kill you with the bullet blows

Throw a book of sample laws towards us, get left with loopholes

Take my advice: take an 8-mile hike

I'm down by law, like the back of the jacket on Cool as Ice

Who is nice? Why'd you ask me?

For the last time, I'm nasty - like Nas was at halftime

You fuckin know it like I know that's a rental car

Hey sucka poet, whoever ya are

MC, uh-uh, people don't call you

Playin' catch-up with every rerelease of Audio Two

Lots of emcees got bitten, I'm not kiddin'

What more can I say? (Bob Dylan)

You played the side of the stage like a broken mic stand

You ain't enough of an emcee to be Jarobi's hype man!

You yelled in double negatives, and couldn't make NO NOISE!

Why is that? Ask yourself, homeboy

Wanna battle me while *saying* writtens, it ain't sane

Better off playing games of chicken with freight trains

I'm stickin to the weight gain, while Dr. Atkins

Sticks his dietary *cock into* to lots of my fat friends

Now download my manhood! Memorize it's measurements

And lip sync the circumference if the head doesn't fit

You can use your Vulcan grip, on my huge *bulging* dick

It's the ultimate, ultimate, ultimate, ultimate, UH

Thanks to Sampo for correcting these lyrics