Apathy — Attention Deficit Disorder

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Текст Apathy — Attention Deficit Disorder

I don’t waste energy on my enemies
Much worse when a motherfucker dead to me
Trynna bite it would take you a century
‘Cause essentially…
I’m detonating a bomb on the original formula I created
Rappers that go after my rap are evaporated
Captain of the ship and he should be decapitated
Captured and trapped in a cabin and castrated
I never took a strangers’ candy and I never made a hater family
And I never gave away the fancy top secret plan we
Get money without never ever needin’ a Plan B
Ask Celph this is all organic
Keep calm, no need for panic
Just playing you should all be frantic
Trynna find a spaceship just to flee the planet
Pop shots at the ship as it takes of
Ricochets through the shields, shoot your face off
Motherfucker never stop the beat, or interrupt my rap, or try to turn my tape off
Y’all trynna sound smart when you sound more shallow than water inside of a tub
Ap’s shit so deep that the pressure when you dive implodes every side of a sub

We starve
Look at one another short of breath
Walking proudly in our winter coats
Wearing smells from lavatories
Facing a dying nation

I don’t ever pay attention, never stay on topic
I got ADD bitch, if it ain’t about profit
I don’t ever pay attention, never stay on topic
I got ADD bitch, if it ain’t about profit

Not Mohammed, the kind that go in your pocket
And no one can stop it, I’m a Soviet rocket
A giant on the mic, so it’s microscopic
There’s clues in the rap, so the cops’ll cop it
Trynna solve the murder of the beat when I chop it
Put it in a woodschipper, flip it and rock it
Smack it up, and hack it up, and kill it with axes
The skill that I practice, will fill up the caskets
With half-ass rappers, who blew their gaskets
Fuck what’s hot, I’m about the classics
I used to have an Audi but I crashed it
Now I got a Beemer and it’s so fantastic
Used to be broke but with a hand me down jacket
Now I’m on the yacht with a new tennis racket
Maybe I went too far, but I got a nice crib and I got a fly car
And I’m not a millionaire, but I still live large
And I chill with stars, ’cause I’m ill with bars
When my daughter grow up, I’ll retire on Mars
With the hearts of MCs that I’ve sealed in jars
Displayed on the mantle
Some shit I write’s too much for them to handle
So I put the pen down, blow out the candle, goodnight
Take ’em out with the sample

We starve
Look at one another short of breath
Walking proudly in our winter coats
Wearing smells from lavatories
Facing a dying nation
Of moving paper fantasies

«…the family began to hear very strange raps at night and they looked all over the house but couldn’t find the source of these raps…»