Lost Tracks Vol. 1

by BRSMSN (BARS IMPSON)

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1.
03:20
2.
03:15
3.
02:13
4.
5.
6.
7.

about

Sandbox collective's Bars Impson Drops his next project in a series of progressive tapes, Though not associated with the previous "print" tapes he bring his same level of energy and charisma along with the knowledge he has gained since his last project navajo prints.

credits

released July 25, 2013

Written and Produced By Bars Impson

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BRSMSN (BARS IMPSON) San Francisco, California

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Track Name: HiYA!
HI YA
Hit you in the jaw
Comin raw
BAH!
Got you like AAH
NAH
Run it from the motha fuckin top don’t stop
Goin hella hard tell ya ma tell ya pa
voila
You aint seen nobody like muah
Smellin mad fa (fire) when im steppin out the car
All I ever hear yall broads yelling bars!
As im hoppin in my rocket and headin for the stars

jumpin out the whip while its still in slow motion
I can not lose so for this im show boatin
With my crew postin beatboxin and flowin
Women want to know him but I give em no emotion

I slang dope like im lookin for promotions
Grind hella hard like im rippin through the coping
Im getting dough n so my gold chain growin
Wearin supa fly clothing lookin wetter than the ocean

I rock a show for a pocket fulla bones
Or at least a pound of dro lemme kop it on the low
Yall don’t know
Where I be at
Dope I OD dat
Blowin up big
you know I fo seedat
If you wante me
no no no
Fo freedat
Hear me in ya rehab
Spit crack you relapse
I be dat
Dude wit tha rhymes they repeat back
Me have
20 20 vision like a sea lab
D stroy the drums and A tack the key pad
Flows gushin out like blood after you B stabbed


Whatchoo gonna do bars comin for you
Whatchoo gonna do bars comin for you
Whatchoo gonna do bars comin for you
Get your bars up boy I throw you under the bu
Track Name: Puffin'
I aint trippin off none of thes hoes
I aint trippin off one I got a hunnid these hoes
See me standin out in front of these shows
with a cup of lean poed puffin puffin tree smoke



Don’t act
youzza ratchet
hit it from the back I could make it do a backflip
she a little freak ooh ooh so nasty
Gimme one night baby I could make magic
she a real bad bitch I could be the chapstick
let her be the cruise ship I could be the captain
Steppin out the whip wit da 2 tone matchin
Shoes on my feet im the new bo Jackson

flashin

Switchin postions im kickin it in these linens
They listen what I be spittin im pushin it to the limit
Invent it then reinvent the shit im smoking expennit
Im bout my cars and my women everyone sour like lemons
Truer than religious denim open my mouth and spit venom
I want em get em don’t rent em on my grind since I was seven
Im blowin clouds into heaven im ballin out like im kevin
Durant and at the end of the day bottom line I aint stressin
Annnd noooo

chorus
Track Name: Harder than it Looks
Hot as heat
Heard I need some practice on my modesty
Harder than it looks to be a half robotic prodigy
Petri dishes fathered me
C3p a brah to me
I am not a species so the question what you callin me
A beast
A beast

know she want to gimme dat/ No forgot the jimmy hat
Couple shots of henney back/ homie where the remy at
Eatin my acknowledgements /wil melt away your tummy fat
Mothafucka come attack/ dodging yall I run and rap
Money laps /I aint no funny tracks aint one to laugh
Blowin up as buildings hit the ground and leave me under ash
Flow is heavy homie try n spit it make ya tongue collapse
Summer slaps/ smoking swishers sippin on a hunnid pabst
so little homie quit playin
Bars on bars and verbal clip keep sprayin
Tippin waiters good long my shit keep payin
Eating ordervs wit thick Chilean (chee layin)
Cocaine bank account Ankle brace breakin out
Type of shit that weigh me down the type of shit I drank about
Pay me now before I play the crowd in case they chase me out
Currently a mix but when the oven heats im cakin out
Im a sinner mayne
Hell inside my stomach so im spittin flames
Yall be on some turkey shit they sleepin on yo triptophane
Yall playin it like it’s a game
Im managing a business
Brsmsn also go by bars impson
workin on my beats same time as my spittin
hearing so bad cant hear myself lispin
grew up in the oak b town and the Richmond
bases loaded bars on bat heavy hittin
back to hell youd think my middle name spittin flame
impson aint a duck I aint a sittin lame im switchin plane
bitches on a chain you think my government was spittin game
holdin out a double cup but no I aint collectin change
this medulla oblangada thinkin mula by the dollar
on a yacht wit prima donna’s eatin chicken parmagiana
in some jays and some gabana catchin rays in Guatemala
smoking grape inside a jay under the shade with an iguana