I'ma tellya straight from the gate you frauds.
My name is Grand Agent, closest thing to the lord
that the mic is gone ever know. You wanna flow?
Betta flow the fuck outta here, It's my era.
(Repeat)
Raise your glass, make a toast to your last bit of hope,
the grand agent. I don't throw jab or bag coke.
Just eyeballin' how this thing of ours went sour,
I got the right mind to rest in this eleventh hour.
I can't see god rhymin' in the same game wit whassisname.
You know 'em when you see 'em. He caught the fame…
like the bouquet inside the wedding,
the same fame I be dodgin' cuz it came too gay and heading
for them insecure assholes –wit no grease.
I wanna be a James Todd not a Cocheese
(happily ever after but still black)
and do the hood like the good wind chill fac(tor),
breeze through wit some gees and tools
that may or may not necessarily be pistols.
See that's for me to know, for y'all to never learn.
Study Grand, all you gittin' is a mirror burn.
I'm from the same place that you came from.
The insane cum of the brains behind the sun.
I was thought up, brought up to be the agent,
to hit ya listenin' booth with this medicinal truth.
Refinement assignment, I got-ta grind it all the way out,
break days, stay out, be only seen on route…
to bigger better, more focused and fruitful.
Other LP's you can cop, this one bought you,
and opened you wide as the countryside -
from the city though, where they shoot cops like videos.
This is the sound of the grounds I'm familiar wit,
some down-low-well-educated-killer-shit.
You can't defeat what you can't provoke,
cuz what you can't provoke won't even rumble you…
HUMBLED YOU…
like the slap-box that went to far, hit ya too hard and now you wanna hurt me.
Well eat me, jerk me. That's all I got for you.
Save the grade school shit, this is doctoral,
black pain-driven;
type of talk to walk niggas to the uncharted lands known as sane livin'.
Just hold my hand, just blast my record.
True that I'm the man, bu
