文本歌词

The Best Rapper Alive - Kendrick Lamar (肯德里克·拉马尔)
Running them ghetto streets
I ain't cooking up nothing
But I got the tea kettle on side of me
That metal on side of me
I dare you to follow me
I'm double daring you
To follow me where the drama be
His momma in debt
So she can't pay the funeral fee
So wherever them candles at
That's where the funeral be
Kids don't get sleep
Guns keep 'em up real late
Walk in the school
Shells laying on the concrete
Take 'em to school show and tell
For that final grade
She gave him a F
I say that young boy deserve a A
Cause she never slept where he slept
Or seen ricochet bullets rip
Through his cousin's face
Ripping his face off
I aim the fifth straight
Concentrate like I'm playing golf
I'm Tiger Woods with a gun in my car
I keep one in my car
And keep a b**ch with implants
So she keep one in her bra boom
Sh*t make room for the lil bastard
The flyest ni**a you seen on centenial campus
The eight ball tucked in my jeans
While I'm getting patted down
They didn't know I had it on me
Stupid security
No one securing you
If I'm gon' touch you
If I don't like you
The Mossberg pump love you
I take that back it probably
Just wanna go and f**k you
Go with you
Then dump you inside the coneal confortable
Defending my belt
Depending on nobody but myself
Unless you talking 'bout money
I need yo help
I need some help
They say that my screws is loose
Like handlebars on mongoose
This is true
You tough rappers
I'm talking to you
He ain't on no used to sh*t
But you see his face grew
He say that he fabulous
But really don't have a clue
That he just a puppy living in this zoo
Sh*t whoo with that said
You should know I am the truth
The truth hurts
You should feel pain
When I'm done with this verse
Done sike I ain't finished
Ever since the first grade
Been bad with the run-up sentence
I never sat the benches in the game of life
I played the whole forty-eight minutes
Christ
I rap with precision and lyrics
Is grandma nice
I'm cooking up something
You want you a slice
Then get it
I'm holding my stomach
I'm shitting I'm farting
On any rapper thinking I'm in his vision
Is you retarded
The CL got my head spinning awkward
Bought it last month
'Bout to put it up for auction
I'm not rapping
I'm talking powerful
And for that dirty money boy
The Mac'll shower you
The Mac disintegrate
And then devour you
The mag'll forget you
Regurgitate and sour you
I world trade you niggas
North and south tower you
Steroid my authority overpower you
The industry ain't affording me
They might as well just give me my money
And start ignoring me
Cause y'all niggas boring me
Y'all ain't making no dollars plus no cents
I swear y'all niggas foreign to me
Foreigners
I tell you what
Go and tell it to the coroner
Killing 'em
Whenever my performance come
When I do it
It won't be nothing right after I'm done
When I ruin niggas' careers
Put you niggas in tears
Get you pom poms
You better off
Cheer for me
Sh*t the new money is here for me
They coming
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