| Uh, just put it in the air
|
| Light that loud and watch disappear here
|
| Thoughts at the speed of light years, I could see the light
|
| Yeah, this the right year made the flow, yeah
|
| Clear and easy to steer in the space and time erasing fine
|
| Amazing in the maze of clichés
|
| Each day weighs out enlightenment
|
| Niggas blacked out 'cause I got ultra violent
|
| Now my wave lengths to the radio waves
|
| Still keep it under pavements but not a ratio change
|
| My patio the same, but I ain’t even got to tell them that
|
| Poppy leave them dimes at my welcome mat
|
| Get high as heavens, hope he’ll never come back
|
| I’m like 5'11, but have angelic contact
|
| The devil jealous in fact, 'cause I rebel the spells
|
| With a letter to God, I swear you know me so well
|
| This one time, I said, «Lord, would you help?»
|
| Some short time after, see my music on the shelf
|
| And of course, I gotta thank myself
|
| My wealth is in my happiness and mind
|
| And not my pocket health in its ashes
|
| If you don’t even think sometimes
|
| If its passion let relationships synchronize
|
| Drowning inside her, true eyes is to the higher
|
| I don’t drink too much, I know the bud wiser
|
| It’s the livest one, Bedford-Stuyvesant
|
| Yo dogs, I got the loud
|
| Blow the smoke straight up to the cloud like
|
| I sky high, my sky high
|
| Ay, sky high, sky high
|
| Yo dogs, I got the loud
|
| Blow the smoke straight up to the cloud like
|
| I sky high, my sky high
|
| Ay, sky high, sky high
|
| Uh, one hand on the mac, one hand on my sac
|
| I’m thinking to myself, what if I handed it back?
|
| But I gotta hand it to myself, I’m handling rap
|
| Handsome versing that’s like hand-in-hand combat
|
| Rehearsing, I got eight arms, nigga
|
| Disarm your favorite rapper, he won’t come back
|
| Made flex drop eight times, nigga
|
| On contact, rewind that like eight times
|
| Got to keep it G, this for my masons
|
| Figure it out, eight times, the average amount
|
| I may sign which I don’t like lime light but I’ll shine witcha
|
| Bitch, I gotta eat, I might dine witcha
|
| Yeah, I got bars but I’m like Akon witcha
|
| Convict music for real, this industry give me chills
|
| 'Cause in the streets I’m chill but still heating up for a mill
|
| I’m like so real, life is so surreal
|
| Sosa really got sealed for the way he revealed
|
| Taking hold of pitchforks still, but I will never yield
|
| In this pitchfork hold thinking I gotta appeal
|
| 'Cause I’m thinking like a deal could get me living swell for real
|
| But if I skyfall, thinking ideal
|
| Yo dogs, I got the loud
|
| Blow the smoke straight up to the cloud like
|
| I sky high, my sky high
|
| Ay, sky high, sky high
|
| Yo dogs, I got the loud
|
| Blow the smoke straight up to the cloud like
|
| I sky high, my sky high
|
| Ay, sky high, sky high
|
| Selling LPs and CDs
|
| Grassroots with grassroots, seeds on
|
| Five finger discount weed leaves,
|
| Exceptionally speaking determination
|
| Breeds success and proceeds,
|
| Feds want the photos and IDs
|
| Into them blood like IVs
|
| Cause every youth
|
| Want the newest Nikes
|
| Straight jeans and white tees
|
| But these things will get pricey
|
| And I’m gone, hitting knowledge
|
| And I’m hitting the strong
|
| I’ve been hurting way too long
|
| And I can’t wait too long
|
| And I’m gone, hitting knowledge
|
| As I’m hitting the strong,
|
| I’ve been hurting way too long
|
| I can’t wait too long
|
| I’ve been hurting way too long
|
| I can’t wait too long |