Lyrics Slick but No Cigar - Funky DL, ESP the Overseer

Slick but No Cigar

Yeah, yeah D, what ya' sayin' bro?
what, slick, but no cigar,
yeah man, I’m gonna bang this in the car,
bang it in the bar, you know I’m sayin' star?
(laugh) what, what, yeah, what,
bluh, blaap…
VERSE ONE
They think they slick but no cigar,
chain smoking, leave ya brain open like a surgeon,
my verbalis style is kinda fly plus it’s tight,
so that’s two types virgin, I’m like a whirlwind,
annihilating bricks like the walls of Berlin,
we violate and kick like the cause of turbulence,
and I’ll pause my sermon
just to show you urban ain’t some glamorized
MTV suburban,
where you close the curtains and your safety’s certain,
not a hasty person,
I’m two steps ahead of these snakey serpents,
I’mma stay determined,
applying this pressure when I’m playing
your version of Chinese Checkers,
yo this ain’t the Plaza, this is Kingston, Cape Town,
borderline Gaza,
this is four Rasta’s jumping out of a Mazda like the Mafia,
mi casa, su casa, now I got ya', bloodclart.
Blaap, blaap, blaap, blaap,
you see that?
Next round.
VERSE TWO
Pop goes the weasel, I don’t fuck with these weasels,
Featherweights, but they thinking they great, they unbelievable,
they unconvincing, cockamamie and questionable,
they poisonous, gasoline, petrochemical,
hysterical, regrettable and one dimensional,
will never have me thinking that I can’t be exceptional,
the beat making rhyme slaying, permanently violating,
sex-toy bass drum, it’s permanently vibrating,
live verbatim, don’t censor my discussion,
keep it Orthodox Russian like the church out in Flushing,
take a dozen of your cousins and I crush em'
like there wasn’t repercussions
when I’m brushing on these top boy productions,
I ain’t anonymous, I’m fucking autonomous,
and my self-confidence metropolis is bottomless,
And if you think I’m sounding abusive,
catch me on the third verse when I’ll be back in like two ticks.
Yeah, tell them what happens when the smoke clears up.
VERSE THREE
The smoke clears up and then a hand touches the mic,
the people see the face and the crowd delights,
they say «get em'», so I go get em', Air Force,
stone denim shirt, denim jeans, you can still see the fold in em',
I speak words that’ll spray like petroleum,
so don’t spark your lighter up on this podium,
I’m from E.A.S.T.,
already told you I’m a B.E.A.S.T.,
King of the Jungle,
Lion, so bring your Leopards and your Cheetah’s
and your Tigers and Hyenas, but you still can’t beat us,
I’m a King from the fetus until they put me on Venus
and blow it up into pieces and hand it over to Jesus,
so don’t ever take my genius for weakness,
I’ll catch you on the strip at three like some Adidas,
ain’t no conceited elitist,
I just made this Autonomous music cos people really need this.
OUTRO
And there you have it,
Funky DL, what,
Lenz, otherwise known as ESP The Overseer,
you get me?
Slick, but no cigar,
autonomy, you nah' I’m sayin',
yeah, yeah, yeah,
we’re just vibes’in.