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- Non-Prophets - Tolerance Level Lyrics
- Uploaded by LOVE4LYRICS at Pastebin.com
- (Intro)
- To the best of my knowledge
- I guess that I'm blessed and I'm holy (yo, hold up, hold up)
- Yo Joe Beats, what's the purpose of you stoppin' me?
- (I don't know man I want you to kick the raps
- you were kickin' a long time ago, not this emo shit)
- Aight, aight
- (Verse 1)
- I was getting props when I first started to flow
- Makin' this music wrecking shop like a retarded vocational student
- Didn't know it at the time, that the shit made me look stupid
- Rockin' pro-black rhymes, over the devil made me do it
- I never gave two shits bout rockin new kicks
- I ain't the type to wear something just cause the shoe fits
- I make moves quick, till you head feet first
- I dig women who got more to get offa their chests than wet T-shirts
- Rent the east herb, permit the west side
- I'd rather eat dirt than ingest pride, my sixth sense shines
- Less wack than Mos Def's pitiful incense vibe
- You couldn't ghostwrite if your invisible ink pen died!
- Now kick fresh rhymes, and think next time
- Before you're paid to react and as an emcee I'm a character assassin
- Paid to kill off all your made-for-TV rappin'
- When the shit hits the fan, I'ma blame it on GG Allin
- (Chorus)
- My tolerance level has peaked, and it's time for heads to get thrown
- Just because I speak peace doesn't mean I can't throw no jawns (I don't know.)
- (Verse 2)
- Now I stopped to build a bridge during my Agnostic pilgrimage
- Lost my will to live so I shot and killed some kids
- I'm just kiddin', no I'm not
- And to oral bestiality I'm just blowin' spots
- And I got more back than acne, underside happy-go-lucky types
- Monday Night Football fanatics, asscrack addicts with thunder bites
- Got more bodies on my mic than my pistol
- I ain't got a pistol but there's bodies on my mic (bullshit, you)
- (It's true!) And Joe will kill you with the bullet blows
- Throw a book of sample laws towards us, get left with loopholes
- Take my advice: take an 8-mile hike
- I'm down by law, like the back of the jacket on Cool as Ice
- Who is nice? Why'd you ask me?
- For the last time, I'm nasty - like Nas was at halftime
- You fuckin know it like I know that's a rental car
- Hey sucka poet, whoever ya are
- (Chorus 2x)
- (Verse 3)
- MC, uh-uh, people don't call you
- Playin' catch-up with every rerelease of Audio Two
- Lots of emcees got bitten, I'm not kiddin'
- What more can I say? (Bob Dylan)
- You played the side of the stage like a broken mic stand
- You ain't enough of an emcee to be Jarobi's hype man!
- You yelled in double negatives, and couldn't make NO NOISE!
- Why is that? Ask yourself, homeboy
- Wanna battle me while same writtens, it ain't sane
- Better off playing games of chicken with freight trains
- I'm stickin to the weight gain, while Dr. Atkins
- Sticks his dietary coffin to lots of my fat friends
- Now download my manhood! Memorize it's measurements
- And lip sync the circumference if the head doesn't fit
- You can use your Vulcan grip, on my huge bolstered dick
- It's the ultimate, ultimate, ultimate, ultimate, UH
- (Chorus 2x)
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