| I carry the cross and then my shoulders heavy as fuck
|
| On my knees, I go to pray to the Lord. |
| Champagne for the soul
|
| Like a boss, I pour something for the gods. |
| A rebel
|
| With a cause. |
| I win—everyone taking a loss
|
| Pause. |
| A little different if you study my ways
|
| Soon escape this water, lock myself in the studio for days
|
| Verses I lay leave your mind in a maze. |
| I’m sicker than AIDS
|
| Fiends keep coming back like Pastor Mase
|
| Flow’s adamance is adamant. |
| Eve, I’ve been rapping and
|
| I’m hazardous. |
| My poetry steam, show you what’s happening
|
| Bring down your Tower of Babel for babbling
|
| Peace to C-Rayz. |
| Ask the captain who their captain is
|
| Give me the glass. |
| I will see through your aura
|
| Post it on the corner, plus your whore for a quarter
|
| Dark as night, you like to torture. |
| Hold my head high
|
| Rest in peace to the big homie from Bed Stuy
|
| Check how we put it down. |
| Brother, indeed, it’s propane
|
| Brothers got no shame when hanging with their gold chain
|
| Recognize C-Rayz. |
| The bro’s so tame
|
| This the heroine music. |
| Nigga, this cocaine
|
| Check how we put it down. |
| Brother, indeed, it’s propane
|
| Peel the flames, keep a heater for the cold days
|
| Flows straight suicidal—Kurt Cobain
|
| Where we easily accomplish business is so strange
|
| I bring Mary the cross, the intersections of various force
|
| Among the deaf, dumb, and blind, mine’s a gregarious cause
|
| Keep thinking it’s funny. |
| Your hilarious thoughts’ll
|
| Get blown out the back of your dome, so they recline on a porch
|
| You are what you eat—the beat’s season on pork
|
| I’m Rakim without Sprite for supports, Nasty Nas
|
| Sincere in Belly with an African corpse
|
| Speaking bluntly, raise blades, a torturous talk (What?)
|
| Immaculate spores fall. |
| I help the seeds to explore
|
| Gregory Hines flips, kicks is tapping your jaw
|
| Was that dope? |
| Every line quote is drug-trafficking raw
|
| I wrote this on the train, another track in New York
|
| The Most High benevolent breeze out my wingspan
|
| Politick with «Degrees» when the beats blend
|
| So strange, you could see cats and dogs in the rain
|
| Arm, leg, a leg, a arm, universal head I’m maintaining
|
| What I’m saying:
|
| Check how we put it down. |
| Brother, indeed, it’s propane
|
| Brothers got no shame when hanging with their gold chain
|
| Recognize C-Rayz. |
| The bro’s so tame
|
| This the heroine music. |
| Nigga, this cocaine
|
| Check how we put it down. |
| Brother, indeed, it’s propane
|
| Peel the flames, keep a heater for the cold days
|
| Flows straight suicidal—Kurt Cobain
|
| Where we easily accomplish business is so strange |