Got a kite mentality on a rainy day when lighting is frightening when I've been drinking
(I'll) never stop spitting till they put me in my coffin, whether you ignore it or listen
Quick to drain any lyricists essence leaving only an organ-less, boneless, toothless, brainless bag of flesh
I'm like metal objects in the microwave punching hot shrapnel in your chest
Venomous lyrics, infected track. No antidote
So I suggest my dude you use the back door
Kounterclockwise in the front, talking loud, smoking blunts, downing shots, getting pumped
The show's about to start, we tear the stage apart, the trigger got no heart, so be afraid of the dark
That's when freaks like me wander the streets, looking for beef, so stay at home before we meet
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Your organ of hearing; consisting of external, middle, and internal ear
Will now embark on this lyrical spark
Transmitted throughout the atmosphere
MC-s better beware
Of my dysfunctional and unstable mental
Crews get man-handled, left crippled & disabled, like me!
I'll deflate your balloon mind-state and ego
Ni**as be short, better stand on your tippy toes
Baby here we go, strap yourselves in
It's about to blow, detonate the C-4
I ignite the mic, pack the pipe, think twice
I don't want no trouble but I'll shoot ya Bit@h!
If you don't quit gonna break my foot off in your ass. Ni**a get!
This ain't no threat, it's a promise
I'm straight up serious
It's about to get dangerous
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Check one, two, as I rock the mic!
Mentally in flight like a string-less kite
Hahahaha! Little ni**a this is fright night
And they call me 'The Count' with platinum chains in your jugular veins
I'm like a dog with mange when I bite, Yipes!
Dr. Strange got you in range, take aim
Release the hammer, the bloodstains, the walls, the windows, the ceilings, the floors
Like Whodini I'm a whore from which it's like a lion when I roar
Find me in the ghetto on the corner like a liquor store
My spirit is torn fighting an internal civil war
Full of guts and gore
I'm a wreck, looking for a place to happen
I'm a mess, my body's all bruised and broken
There's no rest for the possessed in their coffins
Just death surrounded by stress
Here's the ending
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Kounterclockwise - Pump Your Brakes Lyrics
Kounterclockwise - Pump Your Brakes Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Got a kite mentality on a rainy day when lighting is frightening when I've been drinking
(I'll) never stop spitting till they put me in my coffin, whether you ignore it or listen
Quick to drain any lyricists essence leaving only an organ-less, boneless, toothless, brainless bag of flesh
I'm like metal objects in the microwave punching hot shrapnel in your chest
Venomous lyrics, infected track. No antidote
So I suggest my dude you use the back door
Kounterclockwise in the front, talking loud, smoking blunts, downing shots, getting pumped
The show's about to start, we tear the stage apart, the trigger got no heart, so be afraid of the dark
That's when freaks like me wander the streets, looking for beef, so stay at home before we meet
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Your organ of hearing; consisting of external, middle, and internal ear
Will now embark on this lyrical spark
Transmitted throughout the atmosphere
MC-s better beware
Of my dysfunctional and unstable mental
Crews get man-handled, left crippled & disabled, like me!
I'll deflate your balloon mind-state and ego
Ni**as be short, better stand on your tippy toes
Baby here we go, strap yourselves in
It's about to blow, detonate the C-4
I ignite the mic, pack the pipe, think twice
I don't want no trouble but I'll shoot ya Bit@h!
If you don't quit gonna break my foot off in your ass. Ni**a get!
This ain't no threat, it's a promise
I'm straight up serious
It's about to get dangerous
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Check one, two, as I rock the mic!
Mentally in flight like a string-less kite
Hahahaha! Little ni**a this is fright night
And they call me 'The Count' with platinum chains in your jugular veins
I'm like a dog with mange when I bite, Yipes!
Dr. Strange got you in range, take aim
Release the hammer, the bloodstains, the walls, the windows, the ceilings, the floors
Like Whodini I'm a whore from which it's like a lion when I roar
Find me in the ghetto on the corner like a liquor store
My spirit is torn fighting an internal civil war
Full of guts and gore
I'm a wreck, looking for a place to happen
I'm a mess, my body's all bruised and broken
There's no rest for the possessed in their coffins
Just death surrounded by stress
Here's the ending
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
(I'll) never stop spitting till they put me in my coffin, whether you ignore it or listen
Quick to drain any lyricists essence leaving only an organ-less, boneless, toothless, brainless bag of flesh
I'm like metal objects in the microwave punching hot shrapnel in your chest
Venomous lyrics, infected track. No antidote
So I suggest my dude you use the back door
Kounterclockwise in the front, talking loud, smoking blunts, downing shots, getting pumped
The show's about to start, we tear the stage apart, the trigger got no heart, so be afraid of the dark
That's when freaks like me wander the streets, looking for beef, so stay at home before we meet
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Your organ of hearing; consisting of external, middle, and internal ear
Will now embark on this lyrical spark
Transmitted throughout the atmosphere
MC-s better beware
Of my dysfunctional and unstable mental
Crews get man-handled, left crippled & disabled, like me!
I'll deflate your balloon mind-state and ego
Ni**as be short, better stand on your tippy toes
Baby here we go, strap yourselves in
It's about to blow, detonate the C-4
I ignite the mic, pack the pipe, think twice
I don't want no trouble but I'll shoot ya Bit@h!
If you don't quit gonna break my foot off in your ass. Ni**a get!
This ain't no threat, it's a promise
I'm straight up serious
It's about to get dangerous
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Check one, two, as I rock the mic!
Mentally in flight like a string-less kite
Hahahaha! Little ni**a this is fright night
And they call me 'The Count' with platinum chains in your jugular veins
I'm like a dog with mange when I bite, Yipes!
Dr. Strange got you in range, take aim
Release the hammer, the bloodstains, the walls, the windows, the ceilings, the floors
Like Whodini I'm a whore from which it's like a lion when I roar
Find me in the ghetto on the corner like a liquor store
My spirit is torn fighting an internal civil war
Full of guts and gore
I'm a wreck, looking for a place to happen
I'm a mess, my body's all bruised and broken
There's no rest for the possessed in their coffins
Just death surrounded by stress
Here's the ending
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
(You) better pump your brakes, whoa!
When we ride we ride low
Kicking in your door like POPO
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Don't try to run, you're too slow
Better pump your brakes, whoa!
Writer: Douglas Johnson
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid