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Pour More Seagrams

by Blacc Suhn

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about

an assassination of a lame character

lyrics

I adore my four but I rather swing my sword points scored with gore whores floored pour more Seagrams. Chiefin with heathens who cuffed heathers flowers and feathers. Fair weather homie use to be my kaffer. Downed steins of lager together. Now he's a hatin ass line away from catching hands. Scarring his pleather foilin his plans. Of gettin under my skin. Back to back drake going two rounds. Piles of clouds files of sounds. A sad face clown. We don't rock with fake. But you can learn a lot from em. Like, watching ya back when ya bear hug em. Ain't frontin, no stuntin, Niggas kill they mothers sisters and brothers. no loyalty or camaraderie salty see, he’s not as hot as me. thats not what bothers me. its his audacity to casually place the blame and the flame on… when every mistake in his life got his name on it.

I adore my four but I rather swing my sword points scored with gore whores floored pour more Seagrams. seeing is believing, nowadays haters means achieving. basic neccessities is a recipe for gunplay…somebody’s left bleeding. its cool i hope that green shirt works this bridge is burned. no preservers won’t murmur a warning i hitman like hearns. release the hounds montgomery burns. love is pain played means burned feel the flames its my turn. benefit of the doubt its a lesson hard to learn lower than snakes, he squirms like worms. I’m the last mohican that he can eat from the same plate I’m eating. needing a safe place to sleep in i got you! but mf you killed that… like trap killed rap. like cops and colors kill blacks, like crack and running kills fat.. cells. its not my fault you dropped the hammer when it was time to build left me holding nails ambitious as hell money long as sabretooths nails you failed but want more like kim wants war again that why I’m plugged into the matrix, cubase is my escape ship. when reality is full of fake shit. my minds feel naked retracing steps leading to my first statement…


I adore my four but I rather swing my sword points scored with gore whores floored pour more Seagrams. solo for a reason. affiliated like homies that aint claiming. seasoned veteran ain't bangin. How we all growing and you ain't changing? Say ya eatin, but weight ya ain't gaining. Gotta be the drankin. I see ya maintain it. Like ya hate for a rapper that ain't famous. That old tall fat boy, lets keep em nameless. Where's your passion? Niggas passed you cause you need ya hand held. Breathe wreaking of cheap malt liquor. close talker reinhold on Seinfeld. You and 40's did a mind meld. The student is the teacher now. So how now little brown cow. Where ya horns at? No bull I see ya bullshittin. You were born wack. Need butter for ya popcorn and a real emcee to rap for em. encouraging clap for em.

credits

released August 10, 2016
Blacc Suhn, ThirdEyeFocused

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Blacc Suhn Toledo, Ohio

Blacc Suhn's journey began in the string section of his elementary school band, so its no surprise he takes advantage of his intimate knowledge on his latest studio project, The Expressionist. Expanding on his earlier efforts with a more focused nostalgia and subtle edge, Blacc Suhn, (born Joe E. McKinney in Huntington, TN) ... more

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