"Even Kings Kneel" lyrics
Mic's the key to my dreams
Got dope to feed to these fiends
I'm out here for immediate cream
Shady Records, motherfucker, y'all ain't beating the team
It's soldiers in the streets, they all weak in the knees
Speak to the streets, creeping on P, guess again
I don't play, motherfucker, I got a F in gym
Yes, it's him, hotter than Texas wind
Leave you face down floating with your next of kin
Texas send slugs to pick off on your flesh
So many hoes, Tiger Woods'll play golf on your chest
Yes, cautious of death, take monstrous steps
Looking for wankstas and any imposters left
Stop claiming you hard
Your boss gon' report to a king
Your king gotta meet their God
And your arms too short to box with us
We all kneel, no matter who you are
You're not breaking the squad
Your boss gon' report to a king
Your king gotta meet their God
And you're not qualified to stop us
You're not winning, no matter who you are
I'm holding a pillowcase full of hockey pucks
I'ma shot at your face and I'ma watch it crush
Call the doctors up
One punch'll make you feel like you got hit with a Tonka truck
Bitch
You are not to fuck with this colossal bunch
You fronting, pulling up Pentecostal stunts
I'm Godzilla about to stomp nigga
The SWAT gon' come get us
My size is too big, I'm unstoppable
Make room, nigga are actors, factory workers
Walk in your break room and break you, you take two
Make moves, family over all so we can't lose
Take shoes
Fill 'em up with cement then we take you
For a lake cruise
Bottom of the lake with a great view
Guns hot like it was fresh out the oven of baked food
Shake fools on the regular, letting them apes loose
Won't confess to nothing, even with crackers and grape juice
Hit the streets like death ain't coming
Pack guns that'll blow your chest and stomach in
Posted on your block like I sell rocks
With two Glocks, hop up, popping out of your mailbox
Hell's hot, we'll clap you up
Glock to get your captain snuffed
Since you rapping tough
In your face like gas is stuck
We smash and crush your whole hood like plastic cups
D12 is forever, nigga, that's what's up
Got dope to feed to these fiends
I'm out here for immediate cream
Shady Records, motherfucker, y'all ain't beating the team
It's soldiers in the streets, they all weak in the knees
Speak to the streets, creeping on P, guess again
I don't play, motherfucker, I got a F in gym
Yes, it's him, hotter than Texas wind
Leave you face down floating with your next of kin
Texas send slugs to pick off on your flesh
So many hoes, Tiger Woods'll play golf on your chest
Yes, cautious of death, take monstrous steps
Looking for wankstas and any imposters left
Stop claiming you hard
Your boss gon' report to a king
Your king gotta meet their God
And your arms too short to box with us
We all kneel, no matter who you are
You're not breaking the squad
Your boss gon' report to a king
Your king gotta meet their God
And you're not qualified to stop us
You're not winning, no matter who you are
I'm holding a pillowcase full of hockey pucks
I'ma shot at your face and I'ma watch it crush
Call the doctors up
One punch'll make you feel like you got hit with a Tonka truck
Bitch
You are not to fuck with this colossal bunch
You fronting, pulling up Pentecostal stunts
I'm Godzilla about to stomp nigga
The SWAT gon' come get us
My size is too big, I'm unstoppable
Make room, nigga are actors, factory workers
Walk in your break room and break you, you take two
Make moves, family over all so we can't lose
Take shoes
Fill 'em up with cement then we take you
For a lake cruise
Bottom of the lake with a great view
Guns hot like it was fresh out the oven of baked food
Shake fools on the regular, letting them apes loose
Won't confess to nothing, even with crackers and grape juice
Hit the streets like death ain't coming
Pack guns that'll blow your chest and stomach in
Posted on your block like I sell rocks
With two Glocks, hop up, popping out of your mailbox
Hell's hot, we'll clap you up
Glock to get your captain snuffed
Since you rapping tough
In your face like gas is stuck
We smash and crush your whole hood like plastic cups
D12 is forever, nigga, that's what's up
Writer(s): Ondre Moore, Von Carlisle
