W.O.W. (With Out Warning) Songtext
von PRhyme feat. Yelawolf

Put the rap game on a crutch
Blow the spot without warning
You get no chance to back down
Put the rap game on a crutch
Blow the spot without warning
You get no chance to back down


Hop off my Harley Davidson lookin′ like I just got hit with a cool stick
Cherry red boots, cigarette lit and aggravated
How come it's to this dirt road, moonshine trailer trash trooper
Everyday′s a party happy belated
If you smokin' marijuana with your mama at 12
Then we either related or related in jail
Street thangs, stealin' Honda′s for them Asian gangs
Hopefully Yao Ming′s little sister would give me brains
That's street cred for the uncredible nobodies
Am I Bon Jovi lookin′ like bitches, "I so got it"
Loud it, Catfish Billy, get stoked shawty
And I shined up the bowties up that box body
And Alabama knows it, travel the world with my slangs
Some of them don't get the slang but Alabama knows it
I′m sweaty funk, humility punks, fish hook on the hat
Dirty little then we float back, lips chapped
I'm country hard

Put the rap game on a crutch
Blow the spot without warning
You get no chance to back down
Put the rap game on a crutch
Blow the spot without warning
You get no chance to back down


Ain′t nobody fresher than 'em and def with more pressure than 'em
Never mess with niggas whose image is skinny, stretchy denim
Just remember everyone who with me winners,
Everyone who with you dinner
Bitches with you quick as Brucie Chrissy Jenner
Chrome rims on a whip just to shine on niggas
Black tires; the lip white, Tyrone Biggums
Giving out turkeys on Thanksgiving like Nino with us
We even passin′ out TVs like Wendy Williams
All I know is that I′m the wild child
Y'all don′t want no smoke with these bars
All y'all niggas know is y′all SoundCloud
Hypothetically say I'm pissed, I would definitely AR grip
I would definitely spray y′all quick
If y'all expectin' me to hesitate to shoot this bitch
Then y′all are definitely in the playoffs with J.R. Smith
I would definitely put my hand in your pocket
But not the way you want
I put your whole family in boxes like y′all the Brady Bunch

Put the rap game on a crutch
Blow the spot without warning
You get no chance to back down
Put the rap game on a crutch
Blow the spot without warning
You get no chance to back down

I go bananas, too miraculous to react to mortal mammals
Cookin' crack in my new velour pajamas
Gettin′ back to my roots, rap where I stored 'em hammers
Lord of Grammar, my IQ′s my actual portal panel
My IP address is my dressers drawer,
I ain't stressed unless it′s war
I ain't said shit unless it's more,
I bet you you′ll die less than my irons legend for regrettin′ gore
Ghost whiter than the driven snow and it's headed north
Lookin′ like it's for the seven floors, flows are metaphors
Buried skulls all over the globe like a Stegosaurus
My rifle kick back when it get blazed in the sky
I′m a classic, I get dressed playin' Aquemini
Don′t do some shit to get your wifey kidnapped
Have you on Twitter beggin' for your bitch back like Sage Gemini
Why these niggas gettin' their hair dyed and they nails polished
I′m like Biggie and Pac trapped inside of Big L′s body

Rhymes I create a knock out ya gold tooth
Battlin' me is like fightin′ a gorilla in a phone booth
I wreck mics and drop the cool speeches
Nowadays rappers think they motherfuckin' schoolteachers