Song Length |
3:40 |
Genre |
Rap - Hip Hop, Rap - Dirty South |
Tempo |
Medium (111 - 130) |
Lead Vocal |
Male Vocal |
Subject |
Danger |
Language |
English |
Era |
2000 and later |
| |
Lyrics
Verse 1
Yo I spit it how I live it, if you want it, betta get it/
Cause I?m coming for it, rush the door, like the one to the source/
When my vocals in tact, drum tracks collapse/
Leave the booth in shambles, god damn you/
My metaphors are ahead of yours/
I keep a set of fours, while you dudes still playin wit two twos/
And I got two tools, but when I fire, shits dire like murder for hire how I move crews/
This ain?t the same ol shit/
Cause when I spit, I?ll have ya brain hooked like that cain and baking soda mix/
Get to twitching and shivering when I?m delivering/
Raw, unprocessed similes and synonyms/
Many men pretend they real friends of him/
But 9 out of 10 of them resembling the feminine/
I get rid of em, my heart pumps adrenaline/
Cause sparks blow like Timbaland, I?m killin em when/
Verse 2
I see through em like prescription glasses/
Vision is clear when my intuition flashes/
Asterisk, listen bastards, don?t chase the narrative/
Just do you, gotta walk in ya own shoes/
Can?t fit in my boots, I promise this is not an act man/
I?ll flip like Kojack comin back as black man/
This ain?t the media this is truth I?m feedin ya/
It?s not fox news, this is the hard knocks school/
Flows is buff dude like R. Coleman plus 2/
I?ll crush you into dust, load a dutch then I?ll puff you/
Au naturale like the birth of a new child/
Like Immaculate Conception/
Not the savior but I came to pave the way, liquidate and silence naysayers/
Fake ass punks can hate all you want/
You can front, on a beat, I kick shit like a punt/
Verse 3
These verses versus real things parallel split screen/
3 round burst, sick scene/
27 remain, lay down or get slayn, chain reaction of spurts from the clip spring/
I?m trynna escalate tax brackets with the mac tactics/
Mixed with mad practice, you wanna test ya fate/
It?s V.I., you don?t wanna see I with that .35, put the beam on ya ceiling/
Then I, raise the roof, so you can be the next dude on that show C.I. with the S in between em/
Meaning, forensics will insist that certain identification depends on ya dentist/
Existence for me?s about chasin cheese/
If progress impedes betta believe we beef/
Heed the words I speak or catch leaks from these/
Pistols I squeeze, pull back release/
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