Sway And King Tech - 3 To The Dome Lyrics

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[Chino XL]

That lyric tarantula, Chino about to make this example of

Wit one verse, shittin on a whole label roster sampler

My first name:Chino, my last name:Went There

Leavin rappers curled up and dyed like Immature's hair

Wit lyrical warfare, when I spray shit

My style like AIDS, half a y'all got it just none of y'all is sayin shit

I hate and spit at devils that want to posses Chi

Jesus came in the vocal booth, like "Nigga, you the next me!"

So test me, battle and you will become a dead man

And there's a lot of fake Chino's like Craig Mack's a fake Redman

But I'm above the surface of this rap circus

Writin more incredible verses on accident than you can on purpose

You a worthless waste of flesh, like fat asses on a nun

I'm God's bastard son, that blasts and thinks bloodbaths are fun

I hate you wit a passion, make white chicks faint like I'm Hanson

Historically know for bringin down the house like I'm Samson

My damn tongue bursts, in the the first verse there's a bad curse that

Hurts

I'm leavin wack church passengers inside of a fast hearse

Escapin the wrath of Jerse

It's a sad earth when my pen dirts

Axe murderer type of massacre occurs if we match words

I'm past blurs, I smack herbs

Gritty-green eyes like Badu

Leavin minds fucked up like Maxwell's hair-do

And I'ma be the sickest till I'm dead

The type to rent Halloween 4 eight times just to laugh at LL's head

My new album is Flo-Jo's heart, watch it blow up

You ain't just wack, you're what wack wants to be when it grows up

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[Kool G Rap]

The Godfather saga, hit you dead in the chest like shots of Vodka

Funer-als crowded like soccer while I'm watchin opera

Last like Sinatra, blast like Binaca

Binoculars is how I'm watchin droppin from the chopper

Mafia imposter

You're left for dead wit your face inside of your plate of pasta

?Freddy in a hasa?, salute to my crew to prosper (salute)

You know how we do, we icepick the boulder

You get dabbed over glasses of ice wit the Bolla

Blood on your shoulder, make costra nostra

Keepin the heater wit the toasters

Dough in the sofa, cashmeres and gator loafers

We bullet-proof the Rovers, pimp-smack you sober

Our whole crew is?skippin? lieutenants and soldiers

Flip on you the way Montana did to Minola

Condition vulgar holdin on blowers older than Yoda

Leave bad odors when we give cobras crystal like Yoga

Colder than the caps that's in the Polar, bubble like soda

?Been in Egypt for loader foreliners over?

Cross me, cut our your momma's ovaries

Kid you know the steez, have your wake smellin like potpourri

On the low-key, ship keys to over-seas

My shit gets sold quicker than groceries

K-double-O-L-and-G, you know it's me

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