Back to Top

Happzilla - Boombox To Bluetooth Lyrics



Happzilla - Boombox To Bluetooth Lyrics
Official




[ Featuring Happee, Nick Cam ]

Watching mumble rappers mumbling, like they lost their compass,
I'm old school like cassette tapes, they can't touch this.
Dr. Dre did it first, chronic in my DNA,
Heads nodding, recognizing, when the records play.
I watched 80s rap turn into gangsta rap, then Atlanta took it over and now it's a trap,
Young kids spittin' bars with gold chains on their lap,
From Sugarhill's thrills to Biggie's gun clap.
Back when Rakim and Kane were the kings of the map,
Now they drop it like it's hot, Snoop taught 'em how to rap,
Future and Thug got the mumble in their trap,
Drake's feelings mixed in, some can't handle that scrap.
Used to blast boomboxes, now we stream it on a tap,
Lil Wayne's martian flow, outta earth's map,
Kendrick's city lights, shadows overlap,
Tribe's vibes, Outkast in the dungeon
Clout chasin', paper wastin', ain't no heart to find,
Lost the real, just for show, some left the truth behind.
From boombox to Bluetooth, the game took a turn,
Like a blunt let it burn it's hard to earn
Old school, new age, different lanes in the rhyme,
Old school, new age, different lanes in the rhyme,
But the soul of the hustle is lost in the climb.
I'm a 747 and Happs laid the runway.
Grown men my age still rappin' about gunplay.
Keep that shit away, I need my fung shui.
Only peace, success, and love come around my way.
Rap's gone bad, two old men repairing this.
It's been the trend to glorify local terrorists.
Ya man got his top dropped 'cause of niggas he linked with.
But on ya next album you back to being a delinquent.
In sync with the activities that lead to his demise.
Don't say you love the homie if you ain't gonna honor his life.
This once was an art form that built the community.
Now these kids on the mic talking like they got immunity.
Murder, murder, kill, kill, low-frequency vibes.
You can try to say it won't, but some of it gets inside.
Ain't no future in yo frontin', R.I.P. to Breed.
Rhyming about some shit I did-that ain't me.
Clout chasin', paper wastin', ain't no heart to find,
Lost the real, just for show, some left the truth behind.
From boombox to Bluetooth, the game took a turn,
Like a blunt let it burn it's hard to earn
Old school, new age, different lanes in the rhyme,
Old school, new age, different lanes in the rhyme,
But the soul of the hustle is lost in the climb.
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.


We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.


English

Watching mumble rappers mumbling, like they lost their compass,
I'm old school like cassette tapes, they can't touch this.
Dr. Dre did it first, chronic in my DNA,
Heads nodding, recognizing, when the records play.
I watched 80s rap turn into gangsta rap, then Atlanta took it over and now it's a trap,
Young kids spittin' bars with gold chains on their lap,
From Sugarhill's thrills to Biggie's gun clap.
Back when Rakim and Kane were the kings of the map,
Now they drop it like it's hot, Snoop taught 'em how to rap,
Future and Thug got the mumble in their trap,
Drake's feelings mixed in, some can't handle that scrap.
Used to blast boomboxes, now we stream it on a tap,
Lil Wayne's martian flow, outta earth's map,
Kendrick's city lights, shadows overlap,
Tribe's vibes, Outkast in the dungeon
Clout chasin', paper wastin', ain't no heart to find,
Lost the real, just for show, some left the truth behind.
From boombox to Bluetooth, the game took a turn,
Like a blunt let it burn it's hard to earn
Old school, new age, different lanes in the rhyme,
Old school, new age, different lanes in the rhyme,
But the soul of the hustle is lost in the climb.
I'm a 747 and Happs laid the runway.
Grown men my age still rappin' about gunplay.
Keep that shit away, I need my fung shui.
Only peace, success, and love come around my way.
Rap's gone bad, two old men repairing this.
It's been the trend to glorify local terrorists.
Ya man got his top dropped 'cause of niggas he linked with.
But on ya next album you back to being a delinquent.
In sync with the activities that lead to his demise.
Don't say you love the homie if you ain't gonna honor his life.
This once was an art form that built the community.
Now these kids on the mic talking like they got immunity.
Murder, murder, kill, kill, low-frequency vibes.
You can try to say it won't, but some of it gets inside.
Ain't no future in yo frontin', R.I.P. to Breed.
Rhyming about some shit I did-that ain't me.
Clout chasin', paper wastin', ain't no heart to find,
Lost the real, just for show, some left the truth behind.
From boombox to Bluetooth, the game took a turn,
Like a blunt let it burn it's hard to earn
Old school, new age, different lanes in the rhyme,
Old school, new age, different lanes in the rhyme,
But the soul of the hustle is lost in the climb.
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Nicholas Campbell, Jimmy Nguyen
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

Back to: Happzilla



Performed By: Happzilla
Featuring: Happee, Nick Cam
Language: English
Length: 2:07
Written by: Nicholas Campbell, Jimmy Nguyen
[Correct Info]
Tags:
No tags yet