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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