| Aw yeah, just gettin' warmed up in here
|
| I’m a lay it down like this, yo
|
| We didn’t rush it
|
| Kick back and bubbled slow
|
| Didn’t suck dick
|
| Hit gas and rumbled roads
|
| Now, can you hear this
|
| Magic grumble grow
|
| We move like the drums
|
| Tic-tac and bumped a toe
|
| Spit facts with swift raps
|
| Untouchable with syntax
|
| To bitchslap a slumber
|
| With impact to hit past a Hubble probe
|
| Spin back to fit massive summer shows
|
| (One, two, three, four…)
|
| I’ll tunes, trip acid undertones
|
| … that sit past the country’s coast
|
| What if after this batch the bubble blows
|
| Lord knows where the chit-chat
|
| And mumble’s stowed
|
| Thrust in the ringmaster’s Thunderdome
|
| … with big cats with Wonder Dough
|
| But through all the mish-mash
|
| I wonder, bro
|
| With that shit
|
| I predict tragic troubles so
|
| I bring it back
|
| To this patch and drummers know
|
| Make peace to whiplash
|
| Up under his dome
|
| And pitch black with knick-knacks
|
| I fumble flow to fit tracks
|
| And this cracks the puzzle’s code
|
| And infact since slick chaps
|
| Have bummed me clothes
|
| We’re trailblazin' a lit path by jungle’s glow
|
| So with a spliff…
|
| I sit back in the Bliss bachelor’s bungalow
|
| Direct from the shit shack
|
| At Lover’s Grove
|
| I sit back with a six-pack and…
|
| 'cause this lad will
|
| Bring back a bucket-load
|
| … thick hash
|
| And zigzags on buffaloes
|
| I twist raps, I flip raps, you f**kin' know
|
| So kick back, Big Macka’s comin' home
|
| No rich rags, I kick back
|
| So it’s touch and go
|
| (One, two, three, four…)
|
| So splish splash, click clack
|
| Let’s bust a flow
|
| (Aw yeah…)
|
| Yo, when I start to get busy
|
| I’m off from Sin City
|
| There’s no turning back
|
| Once Macka’s on the track
|
| I’m like Jack Frost
|
| With a heatwave of new shit
|
| (One, two, three, four…)
|
| So back off as I reclaim this music
|
| Yo, I’m a tell it how it is
|
| This is B.E.I. |
| and I ain’t
|
| Sellin' out for shit, so
|
| Now you know who
|
| Spits the raw sound
|
| And taught these kids
|
| How to kick the door down
|
| Hours in the air, run for cover
|
| This world loves hatin'
|
| As the young may suffer
|
| It’s like there’s a
|
| Huge hunt for butter
|
| But, funny thing is we
|
| All try to hunt for cover
|
| (One, two, three, four…
|
| Crank this bitch! |
| it’s BNE… BNE…) |