FES TAYLOR


Bionic Man Lyrics

[Chorus x2: King Just]
Bigger. better. stronger. faster.
I work like a slave to become a master
(They will rebuild him, to be)

[King Just:]
The bionic supersonic, Islamic, smoke chronic
Mantronic, the rare coming of Haley's Comet
Got hooks like phonic, so sick, you gon' vomit
With 300 men (AH-OOH!) it's getting conquered
Shaolin stomper, stealth bomber, I came with my shield of honor
O-skama, let off the llama in the war like it's Contra
Stone Gang sponsor, retire six monster
The next black nigga that's gon' win an Oscar
Boss to the bosses, take no loses
The snares and kicks that lift you out your Air Force's
They still burning crosses, they never should of crossed us
We form like Voltron, and return like the Panthers
Dirty like hampers, then we move like with them blammers
Just in case they wanna jam us, they gon' wear permanent Pampers
There's killas in our camp, it's official foodstampers
The new mode to download, they cut the advances

[Chorus x2]

[Mega Don:]
Boom, the bomb, the Mega Don drops
What the blood clot, I was born to run the block
K.C. said most these niggas don't like me
But most likely I done spanked ya wifey
Oh lord and she can ride the pony
Call me LL Cool Stoney, I squeeze and leave you holy
You really don't know me, today I left God
And it's nice guy shit I done practiced hard
Yeah, I break the floor got, but now who's the small crop
From Far Rock to S.I., free sharp his dead eye
I cook sweets, bread guys, flip cooks, stretch pies
Look into your girls eyes, re-stretch exercise

[Mr. Prezident:]
I've gone from the coup to the 'fro do, courtesy of so old
Pinky ring look like I won the Rose Bowl
Spit flames, got the game in the choke hold
Standing in the three second lane of my home soil
On my jojo, neck & wrist both sold
Watching for these homos, f**king with the popo
Me I'm on the low throw, 'caine on the strip
Turn lame, post frames, get ya brains on your bitch
f**k, Mr. Swag Juice, Benz with the red goose
I keep a gun the same size of Shaq shoe
I spaz shit, you know what that do
But that'll leave ya ass bout as stiff as a statue
Yeah, we get chips, nigga, on the route
You already know, bitch S-S-Slaughterhouse

[Chorus x2]

[Fes Taylor:]
Yo, 2 Fly, get used to the name
G-5, I'm a luger in plains
If Prez came to scoop me in a range, shoot at the range in Richmond
Defenses like I play for the Pistons
See me in the grave, they wishing, runaway slave
Like, I can make the distance, new and improved
A bird was born to fly, nigga, I was build to glide
And niggas get killed around this side
I ain't letting shit slide, homey, just ride
Your pops just died, dare a nigga to diss mines
Heart of a king, brain of a mad scientist
And still got the pride of an Irishman
Gangs of New York, these niggas don't bang in New York
Nah, they don't even hang in New York
I have wolves put things in ya dark door
Niggas in the hood, picking up bitches, scared to turn ya car off

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Record Label(s): 2015 Chambermusik Special Products

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