Представляем точный текст композиции "The Manhattan Project" и глубже погружаем в смыслы творчества артиста Typical Cats . Эта интерпретация слов песни помогает лучше понять смысл заложенный в композицию. Лирика «The Manhattan Project» — это не просто строчки, а история, которую Typical Cats передаёт через ритм и интонации. Изучайте переводы, оригинальные версии и толкования, чтобы раскрыть все грани этого трека.
Typical Cats - "The Manhattan Project"
Lyrics to The Manhattan Project : I wont stop painting till the world looks the way it should Im on a mission to make heaven look like my neighborhood x2 [Verse 1] f*** creepin in yards, storm the gates 100 deep who knew these cans of true blue was heatin thunder speech old chicago role models was avacadoes and olives throwups without hangovers names older than gods is where bombings not a hobby, its a habit where addicts rappers braggin bout tags and dont know d**k about this graf s*** attack the metro track with fat cats for fading gray-greens cant wait to see page versus daily its on like lucky hoodies, what could he teach me while you were sleeping, im teaching his kids, through grafitti I have to argue, been rhyming this s*** aint hard to do but technical advertisements on jarvis and harbor blue outlined in summer squash dumb rock like darka tiger minds wrecked from running from cops hoppin barbwire while you dream of being me between clean sheets play the role, personality splittin like mean streets no room for bling blingin thugs and wack crooks im tryna king the line bring ya drugs gear and black books im in ya face in the tunnels and at the bruise (') spots im on ya train insane to hit paddy wagons and rooftops you heard of me burgundy and outlines like murder scenes germaneeds (') and ferns and flat whites for blurring greens f*** over your heads man im climbing pylons tobacco brown, montans, banana crylons hit the red line, headlines f***ed above yo for those who must know its been fresh blue like rusto [chorus] "The mics the spray can" "Stay true to the art." "Simple and plain, let me explain." "This is a mission, not a small time thing." *scratching* "The mics the spray can" "Stay true to the art." "This is a mission, not a small time thing." [Verse 2] I remember graf before more beef then hindu-sac relig ay you right' f*** you, rap your fat cats from lids braggin on tracks how you snap way in the day' masturbate to lies, im to busy shakin paint rain sleet or snow out to rock with missions call laugh at graffitti blasters piss on permission walls wrong side of the graf track with acid 3D glasses blast this s*** backwards and graffitti blast the classes after smashin vandal squads askin what happened im done rappin colder than aspen to get your tax flipped beef without slabs of me saggin ya jeans graf fiends scream for grif dip sticks, even ya tag is weak this is for you who choose to rock lines and toys with red pilots rockin stop signs, stop lyin find ya itch, mind ya b**** to kick, bad habit language visualize, content phat mad graphic, pass the fat black as this cat snaps and laugh at fashion f*g writers with a fill-in qwel villian, feels like writin keep killin resurrectin heavens buildings and bulidin heavens children [chorus] you aint seen a frieght train straight aim with paint stains or parked trucks framed in stardust brushed with fame flame three cans of soul green sand and golden spray trucks names dribbled down the yard, we hit the lay-ups they spellin devils from high levels like its a done job couldnt mimic mr.straightlines on a etch-a-sketch with one knob shy ills killin villians with fill-in illest noise rocks toy scratched bombed the way out of this pine toy box tag ya backpack straps its past ya bedtime heads find dead-or-alive this time to hit the redlines the autograph slaughtercrap artists laugh at mans design the last on society signed like pantomimes buff the blackboard, attack it with true blue no matter how you see it, you lose like flippin zulu I used to paint my name on trains to get my thrill on much love f***** but once was mother*******, we still bomb I wont stop painting till the world looks the way it should Im on a mission to make heaven look like my neighborhood I wont stop painting till the world looks the way it should Im on a mission to make heaven look like your neighborhood [ The Manhattan Project Lyrics ]
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