Foreign Lands (Studio) - Kreators

The main attraction, the main event

Kreators came for action, drama suspense

Worldwide scorpio killer

Hundred yards down the road

Seven cards straight flush card dealer

Born loser future drug and alcohol abuser

out maneuver through traps and move past

Nowadays rappers wanna eat oysters and bad Rolls Royces

Fuck that I get established, make different choices

Live distinguished worth 1200 golden fingers

Have bitches coming from CunninLynguists

We all fighting

Some with mic’s writing some pass the checks with fake license

To skip indictment

In '99 new jacks are too corny and too horny

I bring it live like FBI true stories

You got nothing new for me it’s 2:40 in the am

I stay in in the studio creating

We came to make y’all understand

That it’s all about beats and fans

Kreators touring foreign lands

Spread the word out, we touring foreign lands

I rose in the east, draped in ghetto

To rain fire like in the face of Richard Pryor

Stomp your chest 'til your lungs flatter than a tire

You’re quoting the Messiah throw rap and piano wires

Some rappers are good biters their pens catch arthritis

Whosever lyrics the tightest, hires the ghostwriters

Too raw you can’t smoke or sniff us

And we splash semen in the face of your favourite bitches, uh

Vocal napalm, the bomb this is

Jaysaun, remember me?

Newspapers and dead fishes

And dynamite for all haters and critics

No cards, you write diddicks

You come back short like and overhyped

We can ball a fight

Right when you’re seeing daylight I swipe that mic

And then torture whole and all sorts of sports

Whatever your brain thinks, next burn them thoughts

For the cash and checks

I talk more shit than tourette’s, me, G, Big Juan and X

Throw to the rocks, baby the

My click gets looser than a stretched V-neck

95 percent of the rotation I don’t need

Low key, like I was on probabation of sold weed

Live locally and think Globally

See what you’re worth when this beat get a hold of me

You moving slow when my crew is passing

On the way by, swerving your lane sending you crashing

Every lyric you drop in closed caption

Cut short in their prime like Bo Jackson

I got a method far from tame or domestic

All I need is a beat to let my pen spin

Went from a prentice to pulling teeth like a dentist

Certified chemist and mic menace

I use my mic like a pager, shaking niggas

And use my like a razor, scraping niggas

Carve a K on your motherfucking back

You under attack like Iraq

Finished bombing this track, then leave a booby trap

For the next rap act, group of singers

Trynna get open or lose your face and fingers, what

I got plenty for any, that offend me don’t come out against me

My freestyle’s like a colt that’s never empty

Born wrong with the gift of song

It’s inside me to guide me, Big Juan

That’s why it’s hard for me to be bragging

Imagine one day you sagging the next you have a pearl band’s wagon

And that’s my hussle, my brain’s like a muscle

Juan the Antipope, or work a track like aerobic

On any opponent, I’m only here for the moment

So I’m all up on it, at the studio like I own it, what