The WizRRd - Runnin' lyrics

[Hook] Runnin through the jungle, running through the jungle Runnin through the jungle, running through the jungle, what Runnin through the jungle, running through the jungle Runnin through the jungle, running through the jungle, what [Verse 1: Juke] My phat raps got me packing stacks like IHOP Fans come through and check it every time that I drop It's not Drake or Wayne, I'm not Hov or Ye But I can still drop a beat like every single day And in new ways making people step back and listen like double takes My fine style makes you think twice like mistakes This that type of sh** that makes all the foes hate Like when you're at the finish and the rest are on the preface My words sophisticate, your brain can't take, so you just hate Never knowing where you're going, the fact that I'm still flowing Has your mind so hot I'm blowing and you know that I'm just showing off Now let's take a second to stop and look at all my guap It's almost too obvious but you still deny the fact I'm hot Even though I'm pretty sure everyone knows that I rock [Hook] [Verse 2: Juke] My rhyme style has my foes in a prison Leaving the competition sitting in San Quentin Their mind becomes a prism of thinking I can be beaten I'm sorry but it was written way before humans even Roamed the earth, marking our turf Making it clear that we were here and not going anywhere Let's be fair, survival of the fittest was only made to pit us Against one another, turning on our brothers Now that's not what we're about We gotta stick together for worse, or for the better People will be around forever, well, depending on the weather Just ask Mr. Gore, he seems to know for sure Where we're all headed, he says the world is melting But you didn't believe him, now you see what we're knee deep in Can you feel it as it's heating, nah, you're just too busy eating Eating out of styrofoam, yeah, we're too far gone [Hook] [Break] [Verse 3: Juke] Guns go blao blao, how you like my style now Your ears get raped by lyrical sounds, and I've found A new therapeutical outlet to get out this Any time I get pissed I just write a list Then the pen hits a pad like a lyrical fist And believe me, when I'm done your stomachs gonna be empty Like bulimics, you haven't seen this You can't screen this I can't be censored like there's a fence up I'm never gonna stall And I've always given my all Since I was standing in the halls And scrawling my words on the middle schools walls, and tables It helped to keep my mind stable, b**hes saying it's a fable But that's just another label, not like the type to give you a deal The type, the type that makes you feel, hurt [Hook]