Lyrics Cryin' Shame - Foreign Beggars

Cryin' Shame

I walk the light path but dip into vice like a tightrope
But rippin' the mic, I might cope
While I’m living this life, a nice bloke with a villainous side
I wear a smile but it’s still a disguise
A warm and a blizzard arise
Only smoke the most chro, high on cinnamon tight sticks
I’m living a lie, huh, they call it a game
Should I give in and die?
My strong soul figured give it a try
Now I’m dipping five fingers in pie
Foreign Beggars in your pantry, Jack dip on the slide
Yo Orifice, how many styles do we flip on these guys?
It’s like, pay attention, give them a
I hold a cuts like I ain’t hearing them cry
Pouring water like a tear from the sky, as they near their demise
Yo bare MC’s get played by the mind game
It’s a crying shame, rappers can’t rhyme in a time frame
Man it’s quite strange, I ain’t surprised that they fight change
Cause they’re the lying type — hiding they faces, disguise pain
Yo, I spit poison with the violence of war-cries
Approach any cipher rhyme and tyrannous foresight
The worst kind of enemy, mind sicker than porn sites
I force fights, I’m bored like a kid with a toy kite
Your short-sighted plan of action reaps the benefits
Of a minute’s hard work but man I ain’t really feeling that (because?)
There’s nothing worse than a brother that can’t rap
Who’s chatting crap on a track that’s actually made it to wax
This shit’s abominable (horrible) somebody ought to
This brother’s volatile, my rap style’s unstoppable
I’ve got a small case of rap rage
Fact I feel stranger than a Japanese newborn with a black face
And if rap pays I’m in, get the money blood
These days stay grey so we play to win
My face grins at the thought of success
Yo it’s a long and rocky road and I’ma climb it nonetheless
Yo bare MC’s get played by the mind game
It’s a crying shame, rappers can’t rhyme in a time frame
Man it’s quite strange, I ain’t surprised that they fight change
Cause they’re the lying type — hiding they faces, disguise pain
Give this man a guest spot and guess what?
My worst critic turns to the biggest fan I ever got
Did my research like I’m Alan Yentob
Now I’m back to wreck shop, swing a bat smash the shells up
A jagged edge cut for your fleshy gut
Givin' kids a trim, making sure they don’t measure up
Threatenin' the sir, revolver and the leather gloves
See my sat chillin' on the sofa in the gents club
Got an eye for the fine stuff, why not?
Still inspired when my rivals are dried up
You’re ill advised whining lots when I drop
Four million styles live enough
To strike up a right fuss
When the time comes I get psyched up
Like I’m last place blind drunk
I make bare MC’s feel naked and unappreciated
You’re nothing next to me bitch face it
Yo bare MC’s get played by the mind game
It’s a crying shame, rappers can’t rhyme in a time frame
Man it’s quite strange, I ain’t surprised that they fight change
Cause they’re the lying type — hiding they faces, disguise pain