Lyrics On the Lookout - Kankick, Wild Child, Kombo

On the Lookout

Yes, for each and every cat that I know, this be visionary
This be very specific in words versus some cats that be fictionary
Rocking with my man Kombo
We’ll put our foot all up in your crack to give that ass more soul
We’re playing humble, watching most cats fumble
And regardless of the gender, when we rocking, this for the crowd contenders
(That's right)
Yo, there’s always gonna be a cat that wanna combat
Too late.
I’m up in the batter box where cats get shattered with Glocks
Kankick grooming up the track and Jack is ready to rock
I see y’all playing the slap shit knowing y’all can’t even box
The other day, I caught this cat spitting but caught two in his back so
Brought his rhyme to life ironically, straight up ruined his rap
He lived though.
Figured I’d give bro a chance to hear Jack
Bent over while he was bleeding, spit, then threw it in his lap
Y’all know the West gonna make their mark, so hear my law of physics
Critics get the didicks with an exclamation mark
And we always on the lookout for them wack fools (That's right)
‘Cause they’re the type who backstab you (Come on)
In the industry, watch your back, dude
‘Cause contracts pocket-jack your ass too
That’s why we always on the lookout for them wack fools (That's right)
‘Cause they’re the type who backstab you (Come on)
In the industry, watch your back, dude
‘Cause contracts pocket-jack your ass too
We reserve the right to refuse to your wack vocalist
Your hopefulness can only go so far to cope with this
Kombo.
Remember me from next chapter?
My vocal instrument showing my teeth like a raptor
‘Cause in this rap biz, most rap kids
Will buy a tight limo before they make a hype demo (True)
Late-night like Jay Leno at the hotspots
But when it comes to rocking shows, they’re simply have-nots
And to be tight (What?), they pick someone to be like
«Yo, you need to write, fool.
You know who you sound like?»
(Who's that?)
KRS, 2Pac, Em, Xzibit.
One claiming
It’s a new sound, an underground platinum
We gatting ‘em.
Fakers can’t maintain
From knowledge and truth inserted in the main vein
Rap trenches drive the weak insane
You get water tortures of my soul-bought rain
Me and Wildchild strangle the cable (Cable)
So obtuse niggas can’t figure the angle (Angle)
You out the game like two technicals
Me and Jack backslap fools who act skeptical
Uh
And we always on the lookout for them wack fools (‘Cause why?)
‘Cause they’re the type who backstab you (True)
In the industry, watch your back, dude (Come on)
‘Cause contracts pocket-jack your ass too
That’s why we always on the lookout for them wack fools (That's right)
‘Cause they’re the type who backstab you (True, huh?)
In the industry, watch your back, dude
‘Cause contracts pocket-jack your ass too
Bringing back desire.
Hate wack MCs who don’t kick
Facts and get contracts from their contacts
But my mind stacks poetry on tracks
While the next man, he kept stacking blacks
I take it to the max with my verbal attacks
And the paper for my rhyme book acts like an axe
‘Cause when you step to me, you better not relax
‘Cause that’s when Jack aggressively reacts
So I, Kombo, and Jack simply about to set it and bet it
For those headed that weren’t the road, playing humble, ironically turning
big-headed
Try not to let it give you a perspective—that the pathetic
Give ‘em credit ‘til you find out the product you bought was really synthetic
And get it refunded like this one kid did
Never on the mic leave Jack unattended
‘Cause you’ll get offended and still pretend it didn’t happen
Cats perceive that rap is not really a privilege, but rather proceed to acting
Yeah.
All y’all cats need to pull out with that nonfictionary, you know’m
saying?
Wildchild and my man Kombo.
Ayyo Romes, speak up on this
«This is it» —
«Wack-ass rappers» —
«You wack» —
Check the sound, y’all.
How we do it, y’all.
How we do it, y’all.
How we do it, y’all.
How we do it, y’all.
How we do it, y’all.
Getting it
popping off.
We do it for y’all.
This Wildchild, y’all.
Kombo, y’all.
Kankick it.
Yo.
Oblivion load for y’all wack-ass cats.
What?