Doomtree – No Way lyrics

[Hook: Cecil Otter]
We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceiling
And this axe that we’re wielding
Will react when we’re feeling that
Crack, attack, attack, and we’re on on you like like a Mack Truck
Your honor, we are that fucking filthy

[Verse 1: Sims]

It’s 2000 and self destruct and everybody’s yelling that shit is all fucked

Yuck, I never liked the construct of that square wheel, like “money ain’t real”

Wait, but that ain’t real. Oh, now I get it

We could take it all and split it, give it to the village

Doomtree villains out for the killing, no kidding

Good man but I went a bit bitter when they took a little bit of the dinner off my plate

High stakes, okay, Ill play, but it ain’t your game

And it ain’t your rules and it ain’t your world, and I brought my crew

We some dirty lip fuck your rules living ugly goons

It’s no kings, no way, You’re so vain, you probably think it’s about you

Well it is and it ain’t, and it ain’t but it is

I go so fucking nasty no restraint

Well I get props and I play it off, I see them hot and I fade them all

Hello world it’s L.O.P. B.T.Z., keep your ring

Move out of my way, let me do my thing

Let me do my thing, I’mma do my thing

[Verse 2: Mike Mictlan]

Friction lock rivet

Goonish as all fuck, prudent to all stunts

Proving the laws of logarithm like the wag of a dog’s tail

Bark back, woof! Light the rag on your cocktail

SPart that, champ on that slang chop

Chump on that chomp rap, probably a stomp sack

Man, give me my prop back

Hold your tooth to my non dap, I ain’t no Diddy boy

That Beni know we go scrimp dance

Dougie, don’t stop that!

Senor Frreal Z three R zero

None other, who’s cooler, hula-hooping through bank zeroes

Hewlett packing, loogie yacking on Don Hero’s

Bomb appearance, nights in Paris, raw dogging cross limos

Toss demos, snot rockets blow up the sub-labels

Long tables, calling shots on a crowd potato

The slang mongrel with fanged tonsils

We slay goblins gangly gang violent

Wrangling fake monsters

[Hook: Cecil Otter]

We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceiling

And this axe that we’re wielding

Will react when we’re feeling that

Crack, attack, attack, and we’re on on you like like a Mack Truck

Your honor, we are that fucking filthy

[Verse 3: P.O.S.]

What’s up? No kings, no love for your made up things

In the paint but it ain’t no game on the wall with a little complaint

Leave that stain, weave through cities dodging rain

No thing but an open door, it’s yours

No lie but you’ve got to get dirty man fix your pride

We some preach them real, reach them, steal them from low ideals type dudes

With a stepped up set of skills and an ick style so kill that wills update daily

No frills or pilled up babies

No posture phony just rock solid un-fuck-with-able dropped knowledge

No love for the bull horns give them

Throns get them in, swarm, let me make friends with a storm

Buddy get up close to the war

Insides out, no love for the boring

Naw, bored, and I bet the hearts off beating

Under hardwood flooring, poor man’s Poe

[Hook]

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