Letras R.I.P - DJ Supreme, Son Of Noise

R.I.P

That’s what I’m talking about\nWe love this shit\nWe eat this shit\nWe breathe this shit\nFill the magazine with sixteen venomous bars\nSupreme rides shotgun, start pulling your card\nLyrical mass murderer, midnight marauder\nSlaughter enemies in alphabetical order\nRich maniacal torture, here I come\nEardrums bleed whenever the black radical starts to breathe\nBack off sabbatical leave\nSilverback gorilla, serial killer, veteran emcee\nYuh dun know my steez, how I squeeze off\nCock back, put one in your cap then breeze off\nThe almighty Roc ready to rip\nBlow you apart like the Gaza Strip whenever I spit\nLiterature from my jaw coming at ya\nServe and slay when I’m all up in this rapture\nCapture my foes, leaving 'em slain\nI’m danger, like propane mixed with the flame, c’mon!\nR… I… P\nR… I… P\n(Rest in peace)\nSupreme, they never saw this one comin'\nNow who the fuck want it with us, say suttin'\nBear arms with napalm\nI get it cracking like Chuck Norris, missing in action\nVietnam is wha' gwan whenever I write past the margin\nPhysical frame is similar to a Spartan\nMarching to the drums\nRegulate like the late Nate Dogg whenever they bump gums\nI’m done with the talking, I’m a walking threat\nGuillotine Supreme bring cuts to your neck\nMic check, spit venom in 'em with no remorse\nI am the Jedi bringing balance to the force\nTil the wheels come off, I ride for the culture\nLyrical mercenary, universal soldier\n187 I’m above the law\nForever draw for my tings, Supreme keeping it raw, raah!\n(It's… it’s… it’s… Su. Su… preeeemeeee)\nR… I… P\nR… I… P\n(Rest in peace)\n(We're gonna need more coffins)\n(Let me talk to Supreme)\nNever ramp with a champion, I’m going in again\nMilitant mind state when the paper hits the pen\nI’m the method to the madness, bringing you the pain\nHold chrome to your dome, one to the brain\nInsane, lyrical Molotov is a weapon every\nI set it off on every one of my adversaries\nHitting you hard like the hammer of Thor\nVisionary from the future, all I see is war\nAnd furthermore you fuckboys never really want it\nWhen it comes to beef they start running from it\nI’m on it 24−7, forever on my grime\nMada hold me down when I go for mine\nSupreme, fuck sixteen, I’mma give you twenty\nThrowaway bars and you can keep every penny\nI got many more venomous flows in my lungs\nRound off sound off like a fucking shotgun\nThe prodigal son, sharp shooter with the steel\nEx-Gunshot badboy, the Roc keep it real\nFuck how you feel this is lyrical warfare\nBodies are going missing from pissing me off\nPoint-five calibre whenever I attack\nStamina up to par, run all over the track\nWitness lyrical fitness, murderous flows\nBody bag, toe tag, another John Doe, let’s go!\n(Rest in peace)\n(Rest in peace)\n(Rest in peace)\n(Rest in peace)\nR… I… P\nR… I… P\n(Rest in peace)