Lyrics You Da One - DARC MIND

You Da One

Obscure my evolution on my own Galapagos, the Darcer
Rips apocalypse for narc who cop a dose, pure
Cut of percussion, continue might get you rocky, choppy
Rock on to the rhythm of my proper fruits, mytho-
-logy, joy in sky overcast as hell, smoke out alleyways
And studio, clutching my lapels.
The Son of Sam
Be damned, you never knew the ill I am.
It’s gotta be
The four are fertile, felt to be fanned.
From
I swell to overwhelm and excel, doing
This to cultivate in other realms, suddenly brought
My sword to pour, to ban a brother hit.
Kev Roc a lore ambass-
-ador from that land of some other shit.
The southern
Tip is how he doodle and dutily do this.
Cyph?
I sever you lightweights on the scale of my endeavor (True)
Ex-talents, check your stance.
My skeptics
To dance, text’ll burn pestilence—kaboom!
Bless
The trance go through my basement, the reverend
sit in traffic and peeking through my casement
I awaken to billows of laid scent as drama
Gases form my Heaven, so divine I lick it and paste it
Nigga critical, mommy to mummy while these
Bitches, they eat it up like chocolate crumb
See kid?
He think of me.
Knock up the bum and, shit, it be
Pitiful, verbally tilted, I hobble, it done
Rhythm is the dopest, lyric is the butter.
Chicken?
I gas her as I stuff her, take her home and then I gut her
promoter, German is the buffer.
Now we the
Niggas who get white bitch—she can’t enough of
eight-ten
Glossy in the Darcie and louder than
Spit the joints, succumbing to pressure.
I greet ‘em
Whole, leave ‘em children of a lesser
Punk pollute he want to be a wise guy
I’ll ride by
Mic protectionism, the truth of vocal
Bucking at your fucked sense of real and social consciousness
Eeny, meeny, miny, pick a nigga—done
This here my rifle, this here my… this here my…
Teeny-weeny, find me mine a bigger one—ah
This here my rifle, this here my… this here my…
This here my rifle, this here my gun
Verbals like hollow-point shells, and you the one
This here my rifle, this here my gun
Verbals like hollow-point shells
Every single breath you take, every number tooken
Move you fake, every hour you break
Forsaking, got painstaking with our capital.
You’re lame, mother-
-fucker, but you’re trained in judging me in battle
Lyrical put to flesh, I caress ya.
I should let your mom quit
But scripture pressure upper echelon
slow bubbling
Capsulate with fall daintily as snow
Correct my lecture, never in direct connect
But really never politick, yet of an injured neck
I give a man a fish and then I show him how, cooking Bali-
-based, I’ll my phrased laced, vibing off my glowing brow
Battered by flattered.
Deflated, I’ll blow up my verbal
Slipping through in fingers as it fluid, he cupped
When written, tight graffiti my verbal stilettos, shocks suburbanite
The A&R won’t come, he passing through my ghetto
When verbalist king and bloody, pour only
Lava innard of my sanctum
With novelty poverty, I stew and buck rhythm
A child come to lead me by my finger through the ruin
Passing me the passenger passionate in verbal processions
Spark, I do the room a dark boom when I match a session
Funny, now honey lingers if she unbuckles
That likely sin is snug around my middle finger knuckles
Diseased?
Not I see snot
Provocative, Kev Roc get D-E-F on blue G-spots
Kicks butter, slow the time to find a real
Design of mine when I king leader of the lineup
Skilled because I’m managing through, go take advantage of you
Renowned, revered, profoundly feared from all the damage I do
Smack critic and diffuse hope to attack.
Darc
Mind with the different rhyme off the beat and track
Thoroughly, centipedes sanctify the style I flaunt, webbing
The rhythm be my shepherd—thus, I shall not want
breath
From asunder come enlightenment, that Davy Jones' Locker death
This here my rifle, this here my gun
Verbals like hollow-point shells, and you the one
This here my rifle, this here my gun
Verbals like hollow-point shells