[Intro: Apathy]
Yeah! Apathy... (Uh)
L the Headtoucha (yea)... J-Live...
Esoteric... (What!?) Yo! Yo!
[Verse 1: Apathy]
I'm like Bruce Lee swingin' nunchucks, nice with mic checks
You young bucks receive tongue fucks and sliced necks
Precise like a sniper with a heat scope
You choke, like a teen's first toke of weed smoke
I leave you broke like a weak rope was tied to a
Speedboat, waterskiing over in a peacoat
And all my tight flows tend to offend you
Gay pussies like dyke jokes for uptight white folks
Those who bite flows soon as I write those
Are cursed in the verse to stumble over the typos
I strike foes with the right blows, to make you flip
Like I'm shovin' the mics between your bike spokes
So if you imitate, mimic to simulate
I'll make your life shorter than the songs on a snippet tape
I spit it great to finish miniature fakes
And diminish your pace like roadblocks for prison breaks
[Verse 2: L Da Headtoucha]
My release is... somethin' to leave a nigga speechless
To each his own homes we can zone through the speakers
When I rhyme, time freezes, you better off to look and find jesus
See crime teaches, spit divine thesis
Good luck with the dime, got you up against the rucker rhyme
Mister rap a lot, twist the rhythm half a knot
Cross the map I got, bigger math to plot
Herbs have to rock, y'all ain't half as hot
Still stuck on how this rapper got
To the moon like fuckin' astronauts
Think you God now? Perhaps your not
I'ma smack your knot and take back the thought (word!)
Dozens of herbs will observe the sound
Unfamiliar to some from a land unfound
We rep the ground 'til the last round, surpass clowns
With central Mass. sounds, What you don't know? Ask around
Ski mask down, get around to ruin your name
Headtoucha motherfucker, still true in the game
Yeah! Apathy... (Uh)
L the Headtoucha (yea)... J-Live...
Esoteric... (What!?) Yo! Yo!
[Verse 1: Apathy]
I'm like Bruce Lee swingin' nunchucks, nice with mic checks
You young bucks receive tongue fucks and sliced necks
Precise like a sniper with a heat scope
You choke, like a teen's first toke of weed smoke
I leave you broke like a weak rope was tied to a
Speedboat, waterskiing over in a peacoat
And all my tight flows tend to offend you
Gay pussies like dyke jokes for uptight white folks
Those who bite flows soon as I write those
Are cursed in the verse to stumble over the typos
I strike foes with the right blows, to make you flip
Like I'm shovin' the mics between your bike spokes
So if you imitate, mimic to simulate
I'll make your life shorter than the songs on a snippet tape
I spit it great to finish miniature fakes
And diminish your pace like roadblocks for prison breaks
[Verse 2: L Da Headtoucha]
My release is... somethin' to leave a nigga speechless
To each his own homes we can zone through the speakers
When I rhyme, time freezes, you better off to look and find jesus
See crime teaches, spit divine thesis
Good luck with the dime, got you up against the rucker rhyme
Mister rap a lot, twist the rhythm half a knot
Cross the map I got, bigger math to plot
Herbs have to rock, y'all ain't half as hot
Still stuck on how this rapper got
To the moon like fuckin' astronauts
Think you God now? Perhaps your not
I'ma smack your knot and take back the thought (word!)
Dozens of herbs will observe the sound
Unfamiliar to some from a land unfound
We rep the ground 'til the last round, surpass clowns
With central Mass. sounds, What you don't know? Ask around
Ski mask down, get around to ruin your name
Headtoucha motherfucker, still true in the game
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