| «.and we grew up outside the realm of all protections that society chose to
|
| offer it’s members
|
| And so at a very young age one was aware of the fact that you were not going to
|
| be given those protections
|
| And you… you had to constantly try to understand what was going on and how to
|
| survive in this space
|
| Uh… and how not to… to go under. |
| You’re on your own, and then,
|
| politics is in your life
|
| You have to ride the wave.»
|
| Loose bogies with parolees tthat got locked up when Kobe had an afro
|
| Look bitch, it’s Daniel
|
| Eat it like a cantaloupe
|
| Bitches treat the demon like a youth potion antidote
|
| No bitch, we can’t elope
|
| But we can hit the slopes
|
| Doing so much snow, like skiing with your eyes closed
|
| Extraterrestrial, extra with groupies
|
| Got 'em eating coochie in a downtown condo
|
| Ya bitch look like Rondo, and mine Jane Fonda
|
| Hit you with a hundred slaps nigga, E Honda
|
| Niggas see me always give me dap, but they don’t wanta
|
| Hoes always talk behind my back and be frontin'
|
| Bitch, see I’m stuntin'
|
| All your vintage clothes
|
| Thrifting with your girlfriend, let her try my dick on
|
| Nigga you a sitcom, about to get cancelled
|
| Napping at the bull run, about to get trampled
|
| First try to play me, make a man example
|
| These ain’t came out yet, they hit me with the sample
|
| Rap Louis C. K
|
| Bored with having three-ways, about to have a foursome
|
| And all of them Asian
|
| Smoking on some haze got me looking just like 'em
|
| Head in the hotel, watching Teen Titans
|
| Zoned off that Vicodin
|
| After we finished and they wanna try again?
|
| #Style!
|
| Ayo, this nigga ain’t even send me my fucking beats, son…
|
| Ayo, first of all…
|
| Fuck Mike Finito for making this beat
|
| He said he got me, but he never send no fuckin' heat to me
|
| So now you’re dead to me, you’re history
|
| You see me, don’t say shit to me
|
| You bring your girlfriend to Das Racist’s show she getting dick from me
|
| They say I’m such a mystery
|
| I’m ghetto yet articulate
|
| Some how this guy from out the projects live, but still find time to read
|
| Dostoevsky, Howard Zinn, Donald Goines, Phillip K. Dick, and Dr.
|
| Seuss and use the moral as a muse
|
| Obtuse, left angle
|
| I’m mentally bent, mangled
|
| Untangling my brain
|
| With that Swedish Fish PINNACLE
|
| I mix it with pineapple
|
| Vic twistin' that white rhino
|
| We fixin' to stick dick in two bitches thats albino
|
| Ridiculous shit
|
| Niggas need chips from this shit
|
| Some rotten chicken and empty Entenmans ini mi fridge…
|
| Enter my inner enemy, into my insecurities
|
| Intent on ending any, intentions of being happy ya think?
|
| …and life is a cigarette, death is an ash tray
|
| Sound like one of them lines Lil Wayne’d say
|
| My impersonation
|
| My interpretation (HEEMS!)
|
| I bring you Heems without further lyrication
|
| Hindu Ralph Ellison, yo you can’t see me
|
| I’m in a silk robe at the bank copping CDs
|
| With guap that I made by selling these CDs
|
| And guap that I saved by having a great CV
|
| Yo yo yo yo yo, that’s a Curriculum Vitae
|
| I could always say, «I did it my way.»
|
| Got Vagabond shoes, and they stray all day
|
| The St. John’s Way, to Bombay Project hallways
|
| If there ever is a problem
|
| Heems’ll want to solve 'em
|
| My partner then’ll solve him
|
| The jury’ll absolve him
|
| The sentence of a mobster
|
| I can sense it, it’s something like the Doppler
|
| Radar
|
| You’re on my gay friend’s gaydar
|
| Something like a leper, you can’t touch me
|
| Never turn my brain off, it never get dusty
|
| Your chicks is busted, my chicks is busty
|
| Up late on Twitter, I talk to Salman Rushdie
|
| Like it’s just me and him
|
| I got dirt on you, doggie
|
| You like She & Him
|
| Schemin' and
|
| All the biddies say to me, «You're swell.»
|
| She got a beautiful box, Joesph Cornell
|
| Got a lisp like Stewart, that’s Kordell
|
| And she from the west, that’s like Cornell
|
| Your chick look like Oprah, mixed with Sammy Sosa
|
| And she got a dick where there’s supposed to be a chocha
|
| Yo yo yo (Himanshu)
|
| Yo yo, peace to Danny Brown
|
| Peace to the Bruiser Brigade (#Style!)
|
| Peace to Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire (Brooklyn)
|
| Peace to Arundhati Roy talking to Howard Zinn at the beginning of the joint
|
| Produced by the one and only Mike Finito, my man since I was fourteen (Richmond
|
| Hill)
|
| Third World Fam, you know what it is (Corona, Glenn Oaks, Melrose)
|
| (?) Squad
|
| OTK, Out to Kill (Flushing)
|
| Aaron Elmont (?)
|
| Long Island and Queens ((?), Elmhurst)
|
| You know, of course, Cardozo Bayside
|
| Van Buren, John Bowne, Stuyvesant
|
| You know (All of Queens)
|
| All the Indian people in Queens
|
| Minke Finito (Alright)
|
| One (one) |