Kwamanwiz by Big Kwam Lyrics
Big Kwam - “Kwamanwiz”
[Emcee(s): Big Kwam]
[Producer(s): Nick Wiz]
[Intro: Big Kwam]
Yeah, yeah, yeah. ’99 (’99), Big Kwam (Big Kwam). Yo (Yo), Nick Wiz, what it is? Blind Side (Blind Side), Wide Angles (Wide Angles) Compilation (Compilation). It’s not a game (It’s not a game, niggas). Yo, yo, yo
[Verse 1: Big Kwam]
Yo, shall I go first?
You hear the classical verse, hot like when
Calicoes burst in battle. What the fuck? You get slapped and coerced
Rappers so dirt, but they actresses who’d rather slash your wrist
[?] turn a [?] into a pacifist
Pulitzer-Prize-winning, few hits of lye
Pending, my hand high, two slits for eyes grinning
Flashing the ammo, contraband in the dash in the panel
Kwam passionate vandal, trying to turn scarce, catching the ample
Cats procrastinate. Why your staff debate?
Had your girl straight masturbate to my master tape
Because my vocals seductive. Who told you to fuck with
The ex-villainist, lyricist, unapproachable, rough kid?
Y’all niggas is brainless, lobotomy cats
Who got you gassed? Truth is you probably wack. Smash who?
That shit is taboo like sodomy acts. Sever
Your mic hand, get yourself anatomically axed
[Hook: Big Kwam] (x2)
I’m my own man. You a pawn in this biz
What we do, huh? Bomb kids and split wigs
Who you be, kid? Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Collabo—that’s why this song is John Bliz
[Verse 2: Big Kwam]
My provocative rhymes enable me to cop it with fine
But if not, I recline, twisting up this chocolate dime
Getting my frame dented, my pen engrave an insane image
On your brain with paragraphs of pain from resin-stained fingers
The pain lingers like [?]. You the former
Youth in this rap shit, goose and a fitted backwards
Go tell your label staff, relatives, and remaining crabs
Your sales is about to drop deeper than elevator shaft
Propeller blades attack your grill, niggas be acting ill
Nothing but packaged deals manufactured for platinum sales
I’m having none of it, microphone got a rubber grip, bang
Will slang like a dozen Crips on some struggles and blunted shit
Fuck who you running with—it’s academic. My staff
Present this, shows all of you wack pretenders’ll get sacked from scrimmage
I’m at the limit, plus I’m properly stressed, through
With being cool—now it’s only animosity left
[Hook: Big Kwam] (x2)
I’m my own man. You a pawn in this biz
What we do, huh? Bomb kids and split wigs
Who you be, kid? Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Collabo—that’s why this song is John Bliz
[Verse 3: Big Kwam]
Kwam master killer, my paragraphs are bitter, yours is like
Half a Miller with a twist of sarsaparilla, crawling
Cash is realer, so who want massive figures?
Half my niggas is social outcasts and sinners
Brash non-conformants who mix hash with chronic. You frail
Someone ought to check your yellow ass for jaundice
The street’s a snake pit, where sheisty niggas try to peep the faces
Of your cards while trying to double-cross you like sneaker laces
My fleet’s evasive when it comes to ulterior motives
My theory is: stay close to the fam, survive, and stay weary of vultures
Niggas be dissing—that’s why I’m, like, viciously spitting
This vividly written jewel to make your periphery glisten
The bitches I’m twisting can vouch for the length of my dick
You a slouch, not to mention a prick. Shout and
Your men’ll get hit—that’s how I’m doing you fags. Underground
Even with a major deal soon to get bagged
[Hook: Big Kwam] (x2)
I’m my own man. You a pawn in this biz
What we do, huh? Bomb kids and split wigs
Who you be, kid? Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Collabo—that’s why this song is John Bliz
[Outro: Big Kwam]
I’m my own man. You a pawn in this biz
Uh, bomb kids and split wigs
Uh, Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Yeah, this song is John Bliz
Uh, my man and their mans. Who we
Be, huh? Big Kwam and Nick Wiz. A
Da-da-da, Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Collabo—that’s why this song is mad biz
Mad biz, John Bliz. Word up
Big Twan, what up, nigga? P.A
Black, Terror, my nigga F.T
Street Smartz, word up
D Grimm, Everes. Y’all know
The rest. T-Ro, you know how we go
Word up. All my niggas
No doubt
[Emcee(s): Big Kwam]
[Producer(s): Nick Wiz]
[Intro: Big Kwam]
Yeah, yeah, yeah. ’99 (’99), Big Kwam (Big Kwam). Yo (Yo), Nick Wiz, what it is? Blind Side (Blind Side), Wide Angles (Wide Angles) Compilation (Compilation). It’s not a game (It’s not a game, niggas). Yo, yo, yo
[Verse 1: Big Kwam]
Yo, shall I go first?
You hear the classical verse, hot like when
Calicoes burst in battle. What the fuck? You get slapped and coerced
Rappers so dirt, but they actresses who’d rather slash your wrist
[?] turn a [?] into a pacifist
Pulitzer-Prize-winning, few hits of lye
Pending, my hand high, two slits for eyes grinning
Flashing the ammo, contraband in the dash in the panel
Kwam passionate vandal, trying to turn scarce, catching the ample
Cats procrastinate. Why your staff debate?
Had your girl straight masturbate to my master tape
Because my vocals seductive. Who told you to fuck with
The ex-villainist, lyricist, unapproachable, rough kid?
Y’all niggas is brainless, lobotomy cats
Who got you gassed? Truth is you probably wack. Smash who?
That shit is taboo like sodomy acts. Sever
Your mic hand, get yourself anatomically axed
[Hook: Big Kwam] (x2)
I’m my own man. You a pawn in this biz
What we do, huh? Bomb kids and split wigs
Who you be, kid? Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Collabo—that’s why this song is John Bliz
[Verse 2: Big Kwam]
My provocative rhymes enable me to cop it with fine
But if not, I recline, twisting up this chocolate dime
Getting my frame dented, my pen engrave an insane image
On your brain with paragraphs of pain from resin-stained fingers
The pain lingers like [?]. You the former
Youth in this rap shit, goose and a fitted backwards
Go tell your label staff, relatives, and remaining crabs
Your sales is about to drop deeper than elevator shaft
Propeller blades attack your grill, niggas be acting ill
Nothing but packaged deals manufactured for platinum sales
I’m having none of it, microphone got a rubber grip, bang
Will slang like a dozen Crips on some struggles and blunted shit
Fuck who you running with—it’s academic. My staff
Present this, shows all of you wack pretenders’ll get sacked from scrimmage
I’m at the limit, plus I’m properly stressed, through
With being cool—now it’s only animosity left
[Hook: Big Kwam] (x2)
I’m my own man. You a pawn in this biz
What we do, huh? Bomb kids and split wigs
Who you be, kid? Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Collabo—that’s why this song is John Bliz
[Verse 3: Big Kwam]
Kwam master killer, my paragraphs are bitter, yours is like
Half a Miller with a twist of sarsaparilla, crawling
Cash is realer, so who want massive figures?
Half my niggas is social outcasts and sinners
Brash non-conformants who mix hash with chronic. You frail
Someone ought to check your yellow ass for jaundice
The street’s a snake pit, where sheisty niggas try to peep the faces
Of your cards while trying to double-cross you like sneaker laces
My fleet’s evasive when it comes to ulterior motives
My theory is: stay close to the fam, survive, and stay weary of vultures
Niggas be dissing—that’s why I’m, like, viciously spitting
This vividly written jewel to make your periphery glisten
The bitches I’m twisting can vouch for the length of my dick
You a slouch, not to mention a prick. Shout and
Your men’ll get hit—that’s how I’m doing you fags. Underground
Even with a major deal soon to get bagged
[Hook: Big Kwam] (x2)
I’m my own man. You a pawn in this biz
What we do, huh? Bomb kids and split wigs
Who you be, kid? Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Collabo—that’s why this song is John Bliz
[Outro: Big Kwam]
I’m my own man. You a pawn in this biz
Uh, bomb kids and split wigs
Uh, Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Yeah, this song is John Bliz
Uh, my man and their mans. Who we
Be, huh? Big Kwam and Nick Wiz. A
Da-da-da, Big Kwam and Nick Wiz
Collabo—that’s why this song is mad biz
Mad biz, John Bliz. Word up
Big Twan, what up, nigga? P.A
Black, Terror, my nigga F.T
Street Smartz, word up
D Grimm, Everes. Y’all know
The rest. T-Ro, you know how we go
Word up. All my niggas
No doubt