Gym Class Heroes Food for mic Skills Letras:
Travis been known to spit lyrical backflips on
tracks with skate kicks Osiris had the flyest but
I'm all about Axion, Verbal bigspin I Crooked
grind your melon for not listenin', I'm beyond
regular, you stuck in fakie position The funny
thing is I don't skate but I'll deflate your whole
ego Manipulate your face and replace it with
something uglier than The product of Sha-nae-nae
and Patrick Ewing havin' a baby (Damn Travis you
crazy) Nah just a little misunderstood I got the
planet in confusion, for the simple fact my
vocabulary lacks the word losin' Contusions are
placed across the bodies of any challengers I'll
leave my mark then disappear like J.D. Salinger,
As whack emcee's continue scuffin' their knees,
Suckin' the dicks of A&R's just to get their
platinum chains and cars, I'ma keep on doin' my
thing, Broke as Macy Gray would be with a regular
voice trying to sing, Who wanna bring it to these
Crab Apple affiliates, Act silly and you'll get
split down the middle like a Philly gets, I've had
enough of all these silent menaces, I'm for peace
but you'll get quickly deceased with violent
sentences, The only witnesses will be later
notified to come identify the dental records of a
kid offended mine, you ain't a friend of mine so I
suggest you call me Mr. McCoy Hot shit will burn
and blister you boy

We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored
markers, Invade your space like feathers from down
parka's, We legends in our own times and every
rhyme is living proof, We drinkin' forty's from
the fountain of youth, And when we done we're
pissin' innocence, Cause in a sense, everything
your mouth dispense don't necessarily pay the rent
Or the phone bills, you can't trade food for mic
skills, But if you could I'd be eating lovely,
believe me.

Travis McCoy be like the influenza, flow sick,
These other rappers on some old common cold
(SHHH), I'm sicker than that, and plus you always
suck (YECK) quicker than that, And H20 aqua we be
thicker than that, and if at Anytime shit gets to
hard to handle I'm going out raw, Chainsaw and all
like Bruce Cambell, Steppin' out the darkness with
an army of creeps, Caffeine ain't allowin' Travis
to get no sleep, Cause cat's speak soft, and quick
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to front hard like Charles Bronson, Shoutin' out
Brooklyn, knowin' that they from Wisconsin, That's
why I'm always concentratin' when I'm puffin'
cheeba, We down with New York State and the city
of Geneva, G-Town's my residence that's where I
stack my dead presidents, And in my mind it ain't
no time for irrelevance, come on now I thought you
knew better, my rhymes are nines and my mouth's a
lyrical berretta But better...YET...I make you
Sweat like Keith, And have your whole crew fallin'
out like rotten teeth.

We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored
markers, Invade your space like feathers from down
parka's, We legends in our own times and every
rhyme is living proof, We drinkin' forty's from
the fountain of youth, And when we done we're
pissin' innocence, Cause in a sense, everything
your mouth dispense don't necessarily pay the rent
Or the phone bills, you can't trade food for mic
skills, But if you could I'd be eating lovely,
believe me.

Who start it like us, rip a part it like us, who
you know jump on the stage and get retarded like
us? Who start it like us, rip a part it like us,
who you know jump on the stage and get retarded
like us? Who start it like us, rip a part it like
us, who you know jump on the stage and get
retarded like us? Who start it like us, rip a part
it like us, who you know jump on the stage and get
retarded like us? GCH will make it happen
regardless of the element, From breakdancing,
beats, graffiti shit, to straight rappin', Who got
your mama's hands clappin'? Zappin' cats like the
third rail, these rappers soundin' sweet over
stale ass beats, Come on get serious, you're
making me furious with these lame clich©'s and
whack hooks Oh you ain't feelin' me? I'll beat you
to death with black books, Now that I got your
undivided, you got a mic? You better hide it, I'm
creepin' six deep with seven swords of drunk
pirates With eye patches, no teeth and burnt eye
lashes, so they don't sleep and stay dodgin' car
crashes, I'll smash your pride like a star that
just got his fame stolen, Bash you with a mic so
hard I'll leave your name swollen, Cut to the
chase I'll just get to the point first, cause
frankly You're shit is worse than Fred Durst's
best verse, AND(AND)IT'S(IT'S)LIKE(LIKE)THAT(THAT)

We manifest through tape decks and prisma colored
markers, Invade your space like feathers from down
parka's, We legends in our own times and every
rhyme is living proof, We drinkin' forty's from
the fountain of youth, And when we done we're
pissin' innocence, Cause in a sense, everything
your mouth dispense don't necessarily pay the rent
Or the phone bills, you can't trade food for mic
skills, But if you could I'd be eating lovely,
believe me.
Letras: Food for mic Skills Gym Class Heroes [final]