[Opio]
Say what
never under pressure
stress free we shock the mic
you don't impress me.
I live the life of an mc no pretending
Souls Of Mischief rock tha house.
So baby spread your wings now
and let me come on in
show you right from wrong you wanna do it again.
Release all that pinned up aggression
come caress and massage my dick baby
it's not a maraudin' stick.
Damn right Hieroglyphics for life.
Close knit while these others crews fight we write hits,
as for us settlin'
discrepancies with other mc's, it's a breeze.
Cause I stay focused while they frustrated.
Ease off the mic,
don't cause a ruckus
it's destructive,
unproductive,
see us we keep in touch with the one's that bite,
yah some write to dis,
but it's a miss match I guess
I attract the wack backstage.
We wage battles and leave em unscathed.
[Phesto]
It's Phesto, in stereo,
Souls Of Mischief don't stop, don't quit.
To everybody in the O, Hiero...
glyphics rollers imperially equipped to eclipse,
and overshadow the best with no stress just,
the mic conceit.
With my limits boundless,
countless
plus my prowess psychedelic funk
for the female folk who wanna get into some mischief,
submissive like I got em drunk,
and I got em junked,
with they knees hyperextended, weakened,
speaking in tongues like a ventriloquist,
until I quit,
while these niggaz oversaturated with exaggerated nonsense,
I don't respond simp.
They just punks beyond dips.
Infatuated with they lyrics never corespondent.
