Video Week 9 de Beastie Boys 2025 Disco Lyrics

Beastie Boys - Week 9 Lyrics

Week 9
Everybody follow me, I'm on this journey
In which my mind is not discerning
What's real or not, let's steal some pot
And light this joint up till we feel the shock
Let it travel through your body, kick it like you knew karate
I wanna rock and rob the bass from junior parties
Who's your daddy? Who's your mommy? Point me at her, she a hottie
I think she wanna climb on top of me, Lodi Dodi
Call me Slick Rick, girls jumping on this big dick
She put on lipstick to kiss on my tip lips
"Ugh, CiNo, that's nasty, it's ig'nant"
Just remember, I am just a figment
Of your imagination, a soul assassination
What you think I say, what's all this fascination
With the opposite of you? The darkest interlude
You doubt the shit has power, but the prophecies are true
Living in this world of thieves, liars and killers
You'll desire to finish, to retire, just end it
I breathe fire, diminish your requirements printed
I feel higher, ascended to reach clouds in the heavens
When I shout, you get a heavy sensation of damnation
You pace in the damn place, I patiently am anxious
Ain't you ready to die? You telling lies? I'll severe you, knives
Shredder you up, I'm like Freddy Kreuga'
Now I'll tone it down a second, I'm totally down for wreckin'
Another beat for the week like Mortal Kombat or Tekken
I thought about it a second, I'm for Hip-Hop's protection
Representing development of the flow to perfection
Listening to me in any vicinity
You're plenty gonna receive remedy energies, here's...
CiNo is Off The Grid!
What you cannot forbid, my flow is not for bid
This beat sounds like we on a rocket ship
So do what you want, you can't stop the trip
I'm the architect, on the mark, get set, go
The shells go through your armor, armadillos
You taking prescription pills like popping Menthos
You should chill and follow your doctor's set dose
Use your Logos to protect your Ethos from your Pathos
Sometimes you gotta let go
In saving this generation, I'm orchestral
If you a radio-jingle rapper, I detest yo
Piss-poor music blows my dick grows, then spits flows
That twist yours with insults, I'm this close to lynch foes
I'm outstanding sitting indoors, smoking on that indo
Your lady under my prick, so hence ho, you a bimbo
The info's self-explanatory, you fake like the Santa story
I'm reaching to where you can't ignore me, catapulting categories
Too new like Hulu, but who knew how huge you'd
Be on the scene, I mean you flew through YouTube