I¡¯m lookin at a nigga right now
|
It¡¯s the look on his face
|
Upset, you don¡¯t wanna know
|
But these darkies are about to go off the street
|
|
It¡¯s the sun toucher, salivas a live erupture
|
Bicing out psycho cushion
|
My side illuminate the night like Luxor
|
Supreme being, meaning I¡¯m meelo hemen
|
I mean knock and rebock but I stop and pop and leave you bleeding
|
We live from that zone where the real niggas roam
|
Might take a lot of shots oh Henny while creating a new room
|
Little very visionary, legendary already
|
Prisoner where my pen, I need more beats up than my commentary
|
Attempted jailbreak, only if my verses break
|
Recite a couple of more times to make sure the flow is great
|
Then I¡¯m out, grab my hoodie, grab my hat
|
For any news immoments I¡¯m first to gun clap
|
Yea I¡¯m on the dangerous, a rebel rap terrorist
|
My middle finger linger for those who see us parish
|
From LA ghettos to every ghetto in the world
|
The last will be first, stay strong ? that¡¯s my word
|
We never stop, that¡¯s the gift that God gave us
|
Voice of Paul Robertson, vision like Ozzie Davis
|
The soler and cabozy for these demons and you haters
|
My knuckle game illinear, rearrange your whole demeaner
|
My hooks is way cold but my kicks is even meaner
|
|
Body blows, you¡¯re having internal bleeding flowing like Katrina
|
I¡¯m the product of sensual conceder, bonified leader
|
Lines are legendary like the uniform of Derek Geeda
|
Punch lines so ralic, gotta rock a wife beater
|
Bitches eating out the palm of my hand, the bird feeder
|
I don¡¯t ride with the meaner while I¡¯m smoking on Keisha
|
Cuz at the meaner ride me I¡¯ll be poking on Keisha
|
Well known speaker, got me bumping through your speakers
|
I have been the one before Krispa came to teach ya
|
Running the game while you chilling in the bleachers
|
This year tripling the prices of the features
|
The avangarde, wherever my voice reaches
|
It¡¯s stily impregnable, inevitable bleachers
|
You poor rappers are so fesicious
|
But seriously sweeter than them Georgia peaches
|
Kept form the cloth who practice what he preaches
|
Suited up for war, and storming all your beaches
|
Your movement is coming to a hump, tie your screachers
|
Bedtime, you all retired, you weak bitches
|
The world is an oyster, ladies love curls
|
Got the muss burgledeck in case I have a little girl
|
I¡¯m part analytical, learning to think critical
|
Either leave a mark or the people won¡¯t remember you
|
The dream didn¡¯t die with Martin Luther or Malcolm by the hands of they shooters
|
What we lost will retrude us for the revolution
|
All we left was this pollution
|
Contribute to the problem, well let¡¯s talk about solutions
|
Niggas getting lost in my music, starting to think higher for success I aspire
|
Said they wanted dope, I confesses the supplier
|
This the king¡¯s court, I address you as the squire
|
The better that you get, the more these niggas wanna try ya
|
Keep talkin shit, I¡¯mma pass right by ya
|
I ride like James Book or play piano in the inno
|
Release one that charge before starting instrumentals of guilt
|
|
Right hand in the air, left hand on that book
|
Two fingers in the kitty, damn! It¡¯s all that took
|
They calling me a beast, well grab me by the collar
|
Salty about a verse but hip don¡¯t taller
|
Go ahead and get your buck on
|
Good on any corner, I feel like I wanna park on
|
Hop out, post up with an old timer
|
Back with evangelist, part time movie shiner
|
He keeps you 45 top stay applied
|
Moves left, fools worry about luck
|
I offer this advice when you¡¯re down to pay the price
|
Stake em for every sense, they all have to pay it twice
|
Told em thanks, took tat strolled off
|
Nikita call off, Russians stick to that bottle of George Vicary squares run and get throwed off
|
And the alarm if you¡¯re dozed off
|
Got balling ballzised nuts and not an ounce worth of fuck to be given
|
Your gender is hidden
|
Pay it no attention, they poking at my cage
|
Try and get ammention
|
Don¡¯t get your head bit off
|
I¡¯m a monster
|
|
Goddamn, can I say something?
|
Something honest
|
We hard than a motherfucker
|
Anyway, it¡¯s your boy ? Bishop Lam |