It's like Farrakahn say,--a new thing is happening today.
It's sweet to blaspheme beats when you ain't got-ta pay.
But the ancients stress patience. The agent knowledge ancients.
If I take my time, what can I can't spit
don't exist. The moment bliss, myself and I kiss,
you know it's bonafide, certified hotness
from the muthafreakin' Major Deegan
to the 5 Interstate. Mildly penetrate, like the Khalua
place the homogenized. To bass I philosophize.
Grace the demonic guys and space. I'm outta dodge.
My interests include flow, love and war.
The hip championship I'm thuggin' for.
So take the flyest rook's rhyme book like a leak
and freak. Page 43: the Jet Beauty of the Speak.
Now I don't really know but some city said
the grand came through, left this kid mic for dead.
Ya minglin' wit mayhem slim
What up star? Word to Kenneth, we ain't in the same.
You better off spectatin', speculatin' the aim.
Rest assured, I got the fresh mature listeners locked
on some extra-next-texturized imagery stock.
Inspired by only the desire to be
the Mega-Interworld poster man-child for emcee.
Ya minglin' wit mayhem slim-
Ya minglin' wit mayhem slim
Ya minglin' wit mayhem slim
Ya minglin' wit mayhem slim
If this ain't ill, dub don't commence wit the drum fill
and it don't take a late night to make it tight.
Willie bigger than a Billy Squier beat but comprehends
none of what I speak.
Him see-through cuz him pretend.
Now I don't really know but some city said
the grand came through, left this kid mic for dead.
From the front page of Final Call, "Genocide"bellowed.
They ain't understand this kid mic was made of metal.
I jetted though, runnin' for good credit of course
cuz rap shit own my life since James Brown was the source.
And girls act stupidly when I be spillin' 'em
text --like they chest was silicon and I was feelin' em.
But they numb, dumb in the skull as I be cold getting
Ya minglin' wit mayhem slim, it's soul-splittin'-
Pick
