Have 2 by Chino XL Lyrics
[Verse 1: Chino XL]
These rappers saying lines I’d never quote, they’re faker
Than them letters that Solar be claiming that Guru wrote
I wanna slit their throat and go berserk and stab kids
I’m underground and don’t give a fuck who Rebecca Black is
Distributing these knuckles straight across your glass chin
I will Manute Bol a nigga, I put him in a long casket
The monster spitter that’s sinister as a witch’s cackling
H1N1 off my tongue, but there is no vaccine
I’m brash and nocturnal and graphic like a whore’s journal
So I ain’t gotta rhyme ‘til I’m turning purple to merk and serve you
I get more checks than my ese homie Stermal
When I clear you out early like a Jonas Brother’s curfew
You try to sue the hospital, couldn’t be saved by breathing tubes
Jesus wearing a t-shirt that’s saying, “What Would Chino Do?”
I’m here to seal your doom, XL is a problem
You will never see me coming like a camouflage condom
The true villain, never through killing, my haters are
Just big fans, should be spinning on my bedroom ceiling
But Chino got ammo for every coward that’s hated him
And a trigger finger that’s twitching like Muhammad Ali’s brainstem
[Hook: Chino XL]
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
[Verse 2: Chino XL]
It’s uncanny how many are ready to end me. I deserve
Emmys and Grammys and plenty of pennies and these pretty Chevys on hydraulics
Verses like they’re on anabolics
Making rappers cry like babies when they got the colics
These artists wanna be me bad. If imitation is
The highest form of flattery, then my raps should be as flat as Paris
Hilton’s ass. I’m trying to bring light skin back
But El Debarge can’t keep his path out of rehab
The Puerto Rican spic been sicker than Auschwitz
Since Noah’s Ark was just a pile of woodchips
You think you’re fabulous ‘til this savage’s double-barrel is
Outside of your house and it’s singing like Christmas carolers
I spit ‘til I’m raspy, I’m sicker than Raz-B
When Chris Stokes… nah, erase that shit, it’s fucking nasty
You softer than Avril Lavigne shooting shrapnel at the king
The madder rapper that’ll shatter your bladder matter and spleen
It’s an animal thing and on your grave I will dance on
Your pussy CD will not go double-tampon
[Hook: Chino XL]
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
[Verse 3: Chino XL]
Yo
They try to mimic my energy, it ain’t meant to be
Consider me Hannibal Lecter giving out food recipes
Your ass kicked and your path to the casket choosed
Bastards rubbing me the wrong way like a bad masseuse
RICANstruction ain’t an album, it’s a murder exhibition
Sit back and turn the skeleton key into the ignition
Hold hands in a séance, realize that the table’s risen
In an industry that’s frail and fucking calcium-deficient
Thank Heaven that the visionary Poison Pen has back arisen
Fucking every beat that I’m given in missionary position
My rhymes were not written for fame or to get rich
But therapeutically put my childhood in electric chair and hit the switch
These rappers saying lines I’d never quote, they’re faker
Than them letters that Solar be claiming that Guru wrote
I wanna slit their throat and go berserk and stab kids
I’m underground and don’t give a fuck who Rebecca Black is
Distributing these knuckles straight across your glass chin
I will Manute Bol a nigga, I put him in a long casket
The monster spitter that’s sinister as a witch’s cackling
H1N1 off my tongue, but there is no vaccine
I’m brash and nocturnal and graphic like a whore’s journal
So I ain’t gotta rhyme ‘til I’m turning purple to merk and serve you
I get more checks than my ese homie Stermal
When I clear you out early like a Jonas Brother’s curfew
You try to sue the hospital, couldn’t be saved by breathing tubes
Jesus wearing a t-shirt that’s saying, “What Would Chino Do?”
I’m here to seal your doom, XL is a problem
You will never see me coming like a camouflage condom
The true villain, never through killing, my haters are
Just big fans, should be spinning on my bedroom ceiling
But Chino got ammo for every coward that’s hated him
And a trigger finger that’s twitching like Muhammad Ali’s brainstem
[Hook: Chino XL]
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
[Verse 2: Chino XL]
It’s uncanny how many are ready to end me. I deserve
Emmys and Grammys and plenty of pennies and these pretty Chevys on hydraulics
Verses like they’re on anabolics
Making rappers cry like babies when they got the colics
These artists wanna be me bad. If imitation is
The highest form of flattery, then my raps should be as flat as Paris
Hilton’s ass. I’m trying to bring light skin back
But El Debarge can’t keep his path out of rehab
The Puerto Rican spic been sicker than Auschwitz
Since Noah’s Ark was just a pile of woodchips
You think you’re fabulous ‘til this savage’s double-barrel is
Outside of your house and it’s singing like Christmas carolers
I spit ‘til I’m raspy, I’m sicker than Raz-B
When Chris Stokes… nah, erase that shit, it’s fucking nasty
You softer than Avril Lavigne shooting shrapnel at the king
The madder rapper that’ll shatter your bladder matter and spleen
It’s an animal thing and on your grave I will dance on
Your pussy CD will not go double-tampon
[Hook: Chino XL]
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to
[Verse 3: Chino XL]
Yo
They try to mimic my energy, it ain’t meant to be
Consider me Hannibal Lecter giving out food recipes
Your ass kicked and your path to the casket choosed
Bastards rubbing me the wrong way like a bad masseuse
RICANstruction ain’t an album, it’s a murder exhibition
Sit back and turn the skeleton key into the ignition
Hold hands in a séance, realize that the table’s risen
In an industry that’s frail and fucking calcium-deficient
Thank Heaven that the visionary Poison Pen has back arisen
Fucking every beat that I’m given in missionary position
My rhymes were not written for fame or to get rich
But therapeutically put my childhood in electric chair and hit the switch