C.P.R.
Album: Perfect Little Problems
By: R.A.R.R.-The Rythmik Anarkist The Rabble Rousa
By: R.A.R.R.-The Rythmik Anarkist The Rabble Rousa
Duration
3:57
Genres
Description
C.P.R. represents the three most poignant words imaginable to any MC. Let me rephrase that, to any True MC, who properly represents the culture. Classic Poetic Rhymes. A tribute to the late greats of the early 90s wave of real, raw and unadulterated Hip Hop such as; The Pharcyde, A Tribe Called Quest and The Mighty Souls of Mischief Crew.
Lyrics
Come on and step into the 6 sided circle of death, With The homicidal slick line flipping tyrant who spit, The inferno burning your flesh, the verbals dispensed, have a personal affect, quick to transport a cat in stocking cap to hearse from a commercial jet, refusing to fade, like a gang banging recruit shooting the gauge sporting and afro or braids, get that ass served by the chef, quicker than soup of the day, without the oyster crackers, no doubt, the lame voice, rapper destroyer is after, the doiche marks and then the masters, giving pointers to any avoided amature, wanting to up the noise, when employing the exploited banter, our thick honery, rough riding b*** is dead, outlined sillhouette shining off the bricks and cement, but the christened big bumping titans arrived with systematic, style and tech, finely inked quips, reminiscent of the street, uniquely clean and def intitely mean, lyrics that rhythmically kick, with the replenished flows, urban insurgents thirsty throats are permanently quenched, creatively breaking patrons waiting within the sect, into equal secs (sections), feel the treble thump while the rebellious latino flex, now just for a single sec, allow the unquestionably down, incredibly endowed, man with the devilish mouth, to interject, pop a squat, unlock his jaw, and breathe a toxic breath of oxygen blow the O2, into so cute, unresponsive hos, blue lips, fill up her espophagus, and then, while she unconscious, before the blood clots congeal, cop a feel up under her bra, brassier and auburn dress, now sit back and stare, finally convinced, that the committed fourth hardcore chris of acclaim in the game to rep, is the next, top rated best, as the air once again rises, in Hip Hops dying chest, X- Ladies rub on your breastis if you feeling the funk, fellas lighters to the sky if you burning them blunts, Hip Hop is dead Im here to giver her CPR Cause none of these TV stars, cant begin to bleed with R.A.R.R. Hip Hop is dead it's time for CPR classic poetic rhymes Hip Hop is dead its time for CPR classic poetic rhymes Hip Hop is dead its time for CPR classic poetic rhymes And for the future, you aint gotta seek that far
