| Testing, testing. |
| Test the mic? |
| How we sound out there?
|
| Hope it’s on. |
| It’s on? |
| Somebody turn my mic on
|
| How I sound? |
| Sound aight? |
| Sound good out there? |
| Better sound right
|
| Want y’all to hear this. |
| Turn it up a little bit
|
| They gotta hear this. |
| Gotta get this mic right
|
| Gotta have the levels right. |
| Feel me. |
| Gotta be perfect
|
| Gotta be crisp. |
| One two, one two. |
| One two, one two. |
| Much better
|
| Soundin' hot now. |
| I like that. |
| Testing. |
| Here we go. |
| Uh huh
|
| I’m like guns smoke, floating in the air from a murder weapon
|
| Whistlin' wind from shots fired off in seven
|
| Realize inspire Gods to throw lightening out of Heaven
|
| I’ll be standing over your body when the sound deadens
|
| You got loose lips
|
| But your music ain’t tight
|
| I got a mean left
|
| You box with gay rights
|
| We’ll tie you up to a pole so you can’t take flight
|
| Then pummel you to death with 108 mics
|
| Weightless will never fall so end all resistance
|
| There’s already way too much drama in this business
|
| The character assassin leaves no witnesses
|
| Pleading innocence
|
| To the judge and the jury
|
| Temporary insanity was the fuel behind my fury
|
| I threw the book at the judge and got rushed by security
|
| Spent 90 days in hip hop hell
|
| And would’ve still been there if Inkwell didn’t post bail
|
| Now I’m explosive corrosive like battery acid
|
| Burnt plastic until this foul stench had me gaspin'
|
| Only Aspirin could alleviate the pain and the tension
|
| From writin' all my rhymes in three dimensions
|
| While all the writers only occupy a single plain of existence
|
| My imagery goes beyond simple bottles of Hennessy
|
| Deciphering the mysteries of history
|
| But these A&R's got me feelin' trapped like that movie Misery
|
| Time management
|
| Time management
|
| Nothing but time on my hands
|
| That’s all I got
|
| Time management
|
| My hands guided by the divine to write scriptures
|
| For my listeners
|
| It holds short attention spans prisoner
|
| This probably ain’t the first Greenhouse song they ever heard
|
| It’s cool if they know all the beats but don’t know the words
|
| But if they knowin' all the words but they still don’t know the title
|
| They probably downloaded it and didn’t get it from my crew
|
| Makin' it hard for me to flourish
|
| And with this pop hip hop it’s hard not to be discouraged
|
| By these MC’s without identities
|
| Soundin' miscellaneous
|
| Enter my vicinity
|
| Attack is instantaneous
|
| Cold and calculated my life like chess
|
| So every move I make means one piece less
|
| Through self mastery
|
| I relieve stress
|
| And reinforce what it really means to be the best
|
| Then I
|
| Scribe lines with the energy of sex and let
|
| Raps caress tracks like fat ass and breasts
|
| Feelin'
|
| Then need to write, plant the seeds of life
|
| Greenhouse procreates with every song we make
|
| MC’s takin' my CD home to imitate my genome
|
| Nine months later my seed is sown
|
| You took biting to the point that your teeth cracked
|
| I can see it in your smile
|
| You got platinum plaque
|
| But that’s my style dawg I gotta have it back
|
| Point blank, no lie I’ll make sure we handle that
|
| Time management
|
| Time management
|
| Nothin' but time on my hands
|
| Time management
|
| Time
|
| Nothin' but time on my hands |