The Traveller - Talib Kweli Paroles , lyrics

Paroles de The Traveller de Talib Kweli

The Traveller est une chanson de Talib Kweli pour laquelle les lyrics ont été ajoutés en 2013.

Les paroles de The Traveller ont fait l'objet d'une relecture, cependant, il est fort possible qu'elles contiennent toujours des fautes de frappe. N'hésitez pas à me prévenir par mail.

Le clip vidéo de The Traveller est disponible ci-dessous.

Take your mind on a trip with the traveler
More spit than you fit days on the calendar
It's amazing how I blaze all the challengers
Raise up the bar, raise up the caliber

Brooklyn, Where you at? Where you from?
What's your name? Who you with?
You with him? You comin wit?
We get it high, we 'bout to keep some low
You looking at a Brooklyn cat that's finna blow
I'm considered so dangerous
The cops about to hop out with they gloccs out while you banging this
You get arrested for molesting my ears
There's no respect for that in jail, you get molested for years
Where the record in your skin permanent like tatted tears
You got tats where I spit at your face, face your fears
I'm the light facing the deer when he run out on the highway
You stuck like you in the parked gear in the driveway
Fuck why these dudes up in here looking sideways
Killed the game without rhyming or saying I'd do it my way
I fuck with the mixtapes, record deals, real estate
Tour dates, more and more plates for the family
Feel the hate, still feeling great, making fantasies come true;
When I come through, it's insanity

[Refrain] (x2)

Rappers is filled with hate like the spit of a bigot
They thinking smaller than a midget on Jiminy Cricket
And then I hit them with some shit that's cleverly wicked
It's an unfortunate event, like Lemony Snicket
What up, Sonny? Go easy like the bees make honey
Why give you the cure when the disease make money?
The fire that forever burn
When they say your fire that burn out
Til you're turning in every dollar ever earned
Some niggas never learn; some niggas get it, though
I get in the beat like Lee got it parking Indigo
My record finna go like twenty-four inch rims
Or two chicks on E, they spinning, nigga, they spinning!
We winning, we winning; this is straight up and down
This ain't bullshit they made up, like the face of a clown
Got they knees buckling from the weight of the sound
But they fiending, so they leaning when they playing it loud


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