| Yo Yo
|
| Yo
|
| Fro
|
| Uhuh. |
| Yuh
|
| Aha
|
| Yo
|
| It’s going down when the FRO throw the crowd/
|
| The whole folk in the town know when the FRO-FRO'S around/
|
| Oh so homebound, homie, you don’t know my style/
|
| The rodeo, I’ma show, people know that I’m on the prowl/
|
| Even they know I’m the man of the millennium/
|
| Might it be titanium, hear the man in the stadium
|
| Vibranium/
|
| IN me, is he — the Emmy award — winning emcee?/
|
| The more I’m ripping ten feet, the boy gifted, any beat/
|
| Drop top like hy-draulics in Compton/
|
| Mind boggling often, rhyme methodical bar spit/
|
| Let it trace, each mean cut/
|
| Let me renovate the mind when I
|
| Meditate in tee-pee huts/
|
| I am not the one to Eff with/
|
| Rhyme dumb when the best hit/
|
| I’ve come to correct shit/
|
| Ya’ll love when I bless hits/
|
| Give thanks to the Most High/
|
| When I go get crystal clear with my lake vision, FRO time/
|
| Ayo Wait a minute
|
| Did I just see it with my own eyes?
|
| I blow by — leave Rappers in the dust cuz they got no drive
|
| I keep cutting off my close ties and gassin till the smoke rise
|
| No signs of stopping — Kept consistent with dope vibes
|
| I came from dumb bummin now i’ma a young stunna
|
| Keeping it one hunnid — that happened in one summer
|
| I been gunning for the front runners
|
| Posing for the front covers
|
| They frontin and stunt numbers but really they drug runners
|
| Y’all were too late now we’re playing by my rules
|
| Young Rich homie — came up selling in high school
|
| Knowing I’d die soon — my writtens get fine tuned
|
| Fro and Nov hit the track like a couple-a typhoons
|
| Yeah my pen is my weapon —
|
| I Write, rhymes and wreck em
|
| My timeline look like a lifetime of blessings
|
| I’m underground
|
| Where its old heads no younger crowds
|
| Where Snares hit hard — boom bap like a thunder cloud
|
| It going down in the underground |