K.A.A.N. & DJ Hoppa - Warm It Up, K.A.A.N.

We had to do it
Whoa!
Oh yeah, we live
Back on the scene, crispy and clean
Back, back, back-back on the scene, crispy and clean
Back, back, back-back on the scene, crispy and clean
I'm regime supreme, a solid team, I live the dream

Keep it going till the day that my heart stops
Flowing like we're swimming with predators in the swamp
Spitting like all of my predecessors, it's hip hop
Steel sharpening steel; either you build or you get swapped out
I'm staying in the gym, working on my pen
Again and again, I've got a habit-I habitually win
The city of sin; if you're weak, then you will get trimmed
The citizens, they gotta eat-it's a feast for them
You need some backup; don't make me act up
Checking the status of my stature
Collecting these rappers like it's the rapture
The lyrical matter is my DNA; call it data
The main attractor, disaster, the bigger factor
My flows are fatter
You know we're climbing up the ladder
Leave 'em with a pissy bladder, the poetic mad hatter
The bastard that gets badder
The rhyme schemes are tattered
Left the microphone shattered
And the metronome scattered

Warm it up, K.A.A.N., warm it up, K.A.A.N.,
Warm it up, K.A.A.N., warm it up, K.A.A.N.,
Warm it up, K.A.A.N., warm it up, K.A.A.N.,
Warm it up, K.A.A.N., warm it up

Back on the scene, crispy and clean
Back, back, back-back on the scene, crispy and clean
Back, back, back-back on the scene, crispy and clean
I'm regime supreme, a solid team, I live the dream

We're still out on a roll
We're still rocking these shows
We're still flipping these flows
We're still ducking these clones
We're still stacking this dough
We're still staying composed
'Cause either way that it goes
I think we're about to explode
Taking the path these motherfuckers never traveled
We shuffle the gravel
Keep it moving forward, never lateral, collateral
The damage I manage make
With every step that I take
Lyrically resuscitate
If a nigga detonate
Blowing the building to smithereens
Obscene
What you mean
All of my sixteen are pristine
Too clean
I'm deemed as something unseen
Unheard, observe, my words are too keen
This a dropkick; when the drop hits, you lean
This a top pick; when I talk shit, they fiend
Got 'em cautious, never cross this
Young king
Now you're nauseous from the nonsense
Not me

Written by:
Brandon Perry

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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