Songtext zu 'Gunshowers (feat. Elzhi)' von Ghostface Killah

Simpleminds get blown, shattered into pieces
My thesis is thick like the Book of Eli
We live we die, we put 'em in the sky
Free your mind as a slave like the Fourth of July
This a sandstorm created from original thought
I bust boundaries son, you just do what you're taught
My vocab is powerful, spit shit subliminal
Slang therapist, my whole style is criminal

Bugged like Bob Digital, fly visual
Mind body and soul, I'm a strong individual
Come through in the final hour, with gun showers
Stand the fuck up like Flav and fight the power
I'm an activist, socialist, deadly ass poetrist
Supreme Clientele, I'm a goddamn vocalist
My thoughts are so heavy I could change a generation
The x-factor, we puttin' holes through inflation

If you hit the rock bottom of the asphalt, that's likely your ass fault
My lines are cocaine, the flow is bath salt
I'm a for-sure Don, no one in your circle can box me
That's like an oxymoron
I flirt with building your empire
Gotta shake the snake in the grass
And spark shots to swim by ya
Cuz every meek head that speak
street cred ain’t bangin heat lead

And probably cut like sweet bread when in they sheets bread
So nigga holla, I coin phrases to trigger dollars
Its butterflies like the shirts made with bigger collars
Women thank the scholar, the broad stealer
Who laying face down and ass up like a card dealer
The time ceases, I keep a bed with dime pieces
As I palm another phenomenon rhyme thesis
Because on the contrary, I get it popping
Like Dom Perignon beyond time hairy and thick
You can declare me as sick

Highly contagious
Bathsalt flows leaving bodies all on stages
Locked behind cages, Don of all ages
Its Ghostface nigga never plead in the cases
But I plead the fifth, four-fifth by the belt buckle
Crack stone-faced niggas with the steel of a knuckle
Go ahead and chuckle, I have uncle murder your goons
Hoes in balloons, ODing off rice from Columbia
Pull your trunk through your neck when the cartel's done with you

Supreme talk boss, verbal holocaust I'm a thriller
Have you jumping out, they sleep, Wigs hand me a Miller
Sick the dogs sitting in their shoes
My iron monkies spit banana clips with thick traps like Terry Crews
Silverbacks with high tracks, fuckin relax
Got a duffle bag full of guns son, dipped in black
My culture rises in attack just like a vulture
Ghostface the next Escobar or Sosa