Lyrics The Original - Mr. Green, B.E.N.E.F.I.T.

The Original

The, the original, the original
The, the, the original, the original
The, the original, the original
The, the, the, Live from the Streets crew
The, the original, the original
The, the, the original, the original, underground
The, the original, the original
Live from the Streets crew
My rhymes wake them up, they’re snoring, ignoring yours
Yours are as boring as four in the morning chores
I’m more into going touring, exploring the foreign shores
Spit thunder;
performing in pouring storms
Original, never conforming to boring norms
Got a cheap Mic and recorded in Florida dorms
They loved me, I was supported before the swarms
Of garbage emcees, distorting the art form
Underground;
under the floor in the corridors
The undeniable Rap Lord of the orators
I was sort of broke, too poor to afford a Porsche
Pulling up slamming the doors of a Ford Explorers
Buying backwoods that we’d score at the corner stores
Rest In Peace rapper, I’m pouring a quart of Coors
On the floors outside of the doors of the Source Awards
On the front lines, I spit a chorus before the war
Rapper, you’re rapping like your clitoris is sort of sore
You’re sounding like you need some sort of Thesaurus or
A Dictionary, your vocabulary sure is poor
Study my old raps and learn metaphors galore
I’m the raw truth, the Universe will endorse
I’m tapped in to the source of enormous force
Hip Hop was dead, they reported a dormant corpse
But Benefit lives, you were misinformed of course
My name is Aaron and I’m sorta the man
I travel the world to rock it with the portable cam
I hit the streets, then I start recording a jam
Its sorta like I got the city in the palm of my hand
With the 5D, let you see the world the way my eyes see
Lively, with my friend Sam standing behind me
Reminding me about the type of vision that he’s trying to see
To accurately document the underground economy
I like to fuck around and hang in the streets
Then go home and try to make the bangingest beats
I used to dreaming about rhyming, kicking slang in my sleep
Make it happen with the rapping while you counting out sheep
And we living in the black and white world, I keep it greyer
The beat purveyor, I smoke before I meet the mayor
But that’s life, whatever will be
Probably make me stronger, only if it doesn’t kill me