| Freeway got a voice like an electric guitar, I’m the bass to it
|
| Walk to the speaker hold your face to it
|
| Freezer
|
| I’m 'bout to rip it straight from the rip
|
| Body every beat the scriptures to me that we close to the end
|
| Listen, Kill 'em with the spit and put my boys in position
|
| So none of my niggas got to pitch on the street
|
| It’s Young Freezer the bar spitter the big beard
|
| From the city of brotherly hate where we bear eagles
|
| The desert kind and we pay them coppers no never mind
|
| Niggas still palm heaters
|
| My hood is bad they turn teen they grab ninas
|
| A couple aunts one mother no dad
|
| Streets was their father figure and they never had
|
| That’s why they run up in your spot with a couple Glocks
|
| Had hunger pains I couldn’t make it to eat
|
| Got introduced to Islam started making Salat
|
| We in two different cities
|
| Minnnesota and Philly
|
| But I’m on the same page as Brother Ali
|
| Yeah Joell Ortiz, get it
|
| I Ain’t make believe like some of these costume fuckers
|
| So YAOWA, I literally got you Brother
|
| Ain’t a hood too rough ain’t a block too gutter
|
| These rappers starting to look like them pork chops you smother
|
| Slide me a fork damn right I eat pork
|
| I’m sick I dine on the swine flu with every thought
|
| Every track I rhyme to develops a heavy cough
|
| Till it’s fully blown and it turns into a smelly corpse
|
| I’m eatin' I ain’t fat this just how my belly floss
|
| I’m on the road so much I’m build me a telly porch
|
| Bitches be hawkin', I be turnin' my celly off
|
| They crazy like the ass on Miss Tracee Ellis Ross
|
| Come home early I might be in that bed of yours
|
| Girls like me I’m sort of like a walking metaphor
|
| And this mic seems like it kinda just might be… a gift and a curse
|
| They give me ass and curse me out when I don’t make 'em wifey
|
| I’m on the set mic check like your favorite Nikes
|
| A Rhyme Sayer so it’s only right that they invite me
|
| On the track with 'em. |
| I’m oozing that rap rhythm
|
| Could rhyme forever whatever. |
| I’ll let Ali scrap with 'em
|
| Some of the greatest got respect for the way that I rock the set
|
| But you ain’t seen no Jacob shit dangling off my neck
|
| So of course, dudes around the way are all suspect
|
| Why them Rhymesayers boys ain’t break you off with a check
|
| Wait a minute it’s not that I ain’t get it
|
| It’s just that I’m considerate
|
| And shit about they way I spend it
|
| You ain’t never heard me say I’m pimpin'
|
| I referee the game I’m in and so I play it different
|
| I Need the deed to my home and the title to my car
|
| Make sure that my health and my life are all insured
|
| If I ain’t got all four I consider myself poor
|
| Diamonds to the floor is something I can not afford
|
| You see these cats and most of them are lying
|
| Selling CDs and packs, both of them are dying
|
| My man Free earned that shit it ain’t a costume
|
| And I ain’t 'bout to cop a fake joint to give props to 'em
|
| You ain’t seen nothing crazy on my arm (Ha Ha Hum)
|
| My kids got a stay at home mom
|
| Until my grand kids are straight I ain’t buying jewelry
|
| And truly can’t thank my fans enough for what they do for me
|
| Industry suits wasn’t digging my jams
|
| I tour like a madman build my brand
|
| Soundscan never meant nothing to the fans
|
| They ain’t in it for the trends they want to listen to the man
|
| I give 'em what I can and when I’m in the jam
|
| I get to spittin' so ridiculous they pissing in their pants
|
| They listen every chance that they can get it their hands
|
| Until they wear the CD out and go and get that shit again
|
| God damn it got me back on my rap shit
|
| Got that home run king batting average
|
| Achievements, no 'roids taken, no astrict, don’t need it
|
| No styles bitten, no ass kissed
|
| Believe it
|
| Record is flawless my respect is enormous
|
| My current peer group is a short list
|
| Only way I lose if I forfeit
|
| The only way you climb in these shoes is if I tire of the throne and climb off
|
| it
|
| Dont' hold your breath on it
|
| Only begun
|
| If you ain’t the Rhymesayers I don’t owe you a crumb
|
| Can’t no MC call me his son
|
| The lowest ever been uttered is kid brother but that’s only been one
|
| I paved my own road to the sun
|
| My aura glow has become
|
| A beacon of hope the closer I come
|
| I’m sorry there can only be one
|
| Champ around here I am not a peer
|
| I’m up here, you down there
|
| Look down and the ground’s near
|
| Au contraire I hear your heart pound fear loud and clear
|
| Feet of sasquatch
|
| MC’s are mad soft
|
| Make their weak ass glass jaw meet the asphalt
|
| Better hope Ali don’t blast off
|
| He’ll twist your hand off
|
| Take you in the back and saw the cast off
|
| Can’t slow him up the more he get the more he want
|
| They steady telling me hip hop is in some sort of rut
|
| That’s cause they watching the TV and they ignoring us
|
| It ain’t my fault they fail to see that we done tore it up
|
| I’m from a broken mold y’all are from that carbon cut
|
| That shit has all been done before
|
| I’m here to call your bluff
|
| I don’t compare myself to dead rappers
|
| I’m here to write the next chapter in braille and left handed
|
| Consider yourself reprimanded
|
| Fresh rap shit and y’all know we the best at it |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Best@it , by - Brother Ali. Song from the album Us, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп