Ab-Soul – Dangerookipawaa Freestyle Lyrics

Dangerookipawaa Freestyle By Ab-Soul

Yeah (Yeah)
Yeah (Yeah)
Yeah (Yeah), aye, man, listen

Soulo ho the prophecy, I got a premonition (Yeah)
I’ma let the beat build and do some demolition (Yeah)
Interrupt your whole style, this a inhibition
Kamikaze everybody, Eminem edition

Yeah (Aha)
(What’s this?) Uh

This the-this the flavor in your ear, and it’s brand new (Uh)
Craig Mack been back, b—-, where you? (Where you?)
Started from the bottom like a square root, (Yeah)
Then we kept it in the family like a heirloom (Squad)
Wagyu, medium, I’m in rare form
She hit the split and landed on the d— like Air Jordan

Will he raise up? I got to know (Yeah)

Nat Turner with the curly hair (Yeah)
Pullin’ strings like John Mayer (Uh-huh)
Prolly make a b—- wish come true out the blue (Yeah)
Rub the oil lamp and I’m there, yeah
Monkey see, monkey do, my n—-, ask your boo (Uh)
I’m on a magic carpet stompin’ down Central Avenue (Yeah)
Del Amo Boulevard was all I knew
I sold my dream to Punch and Dude, they turned me to the f—–’ truth

(Racks) Yeah
A-ha, yeah
Ha (Uh)

And the flow is alpaca (Rare)
My state of mind is more NASA than half ya (Yeah)
Yeah, black lip pastor
‘Bout it, ’bout it, baby, illest n—- in Nebraska
Outlaw breakin’ all the rules (Huh)
Pac ashes in the spliff, I’m un-toppable

Will he raise up? I got to know
That’s all I got for you
Yeah, uh


Another moment of most dopeness for Malcom McCormick
On the prowl for another style that I stick a fork in
The steak was eighty a ounce, my elbows on the table
I got manners but breakin’ the rules is what we came to do
My lady built like she belong in the stable, I’m on my high horse
They call me Soulo, the irony is to die for
(This ain’t a movie dog) This bag ain’t full of no popcorn
You ain’t up to par with me, nor are we on the golf course
Hidden gym, like a YMCA in the boondocks
The weapon’s chopped and I keep secret for too long
I’m Dangeroo Kipawaa, refrain from gettin’ involved
Against safeties, and say for sure, like a surf and turf, you in charge
Raw backwards on all of you rappers, you heard it before
The rawest rapper of the planet’s name is Herbert the Fourth
S–, drugs, money and mayhem, the workers of Satan
They’ll take ’em to church and say, “Amen,” my words in a playpen
Ridiculous, the sickest with it, you just a common cold
So novice, I’m the post office pushin’ the envelope
Moosa had to remind me who the God was
I ain’t on my knees, but I’m praying’ on him regardless
Matt need a new crib for his baby
So big, he be forgettin’ where the crib for his baby
Dot told me, “This time, we demandin’ respect
Milk the game for all it’s worth like a mammary gland,” ayy

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