The microphone molester, machete undresser Stupid dope fresh type shit resurrector Top Gun miramar Best-of-the-bester The leave an Emcee peace-in-rester The skill tester, the flex, the gunner The make funner, the adversary make runner Make summer cold with rhymes I spit And kick gift to lifted delinquent wit I be the prophet; my hands, top it, stop it Fly like rocky when I rock it Lock it down with this perverse verse Every f**kin curse a burst of hurt Move crowds, physical fitness rhymes Cokeheads couldn't do my lines I'm decorated like Christmas pines My battalion rocks; Emcees become silhouettes in shock
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days
Hit the dirt, 'cause the words I spit Will do more than just rip your shirt I'll bitch-slap your soul, contact the track control You're coming at me and can't hack it though So ridiculous, watching my crew get sick with this Wickedness, pitchin this, lyrical viciousness Of crews and cliques, made of men and mistresses This is my life: the twilight and the fight night And trying to see nothing but the highlights when I write These eyes on horizons, die for my song, cry rhymes in Krylon Fire on, move men telekinetically Esoterically beat-speaking with clarity Feel my verities, heroism of heresy And sever every emcee I see with severity
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days
Why not... what I came... Why not... what I came...
Why not give me what I came to deserve? Why not give me what I came to believe? Why not give me what I came to deserve? Why not give me what I came to believe?
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days