Lyrics Utility Belt - Sandpeople

Utility Belt

Who can oppose me?
Saliva that drips like Obe
got you open like the sex life of Kobe
We control the mic when I hold the device, your girl’s looking twice at this
lonely emcee that’ll only fight for his homies
I’m nice with a poem and only right when I’m lonely
Take flight, ‘till Phil Knight wanna phone me
Ignite, yo I get hype when I’m zoning
Strike like a Ronin when I roll in
I’m good for two things, mood swings and explosions
At this moment, both are being tested
And movin' to the exits, highly recommended
I’ma horrendous, endless piece of action on a song;
The question you never bothered askin'
With the wrong outlook, but the right skills to flex in
Our record set with this crowd yellin epic!
I cypher into cycles of psychoanalysis with calluses, chemical imbances balance
with ballads of assault and battery, battle with battering rams,
bats in the brain, and a Mic in my hand
Knock son
Quick to go off like a cop’s gun in the city where they pop nines ‘cause the
stop sign got run
No hesitatin' you brag about weight and ain’t got none
But if you ran as much as your mouth you might drop some
You know what we about.
This is where you get your plot from
Lack of climax a resolution to your problem
This music keeps evolvin', survival of the fit
But I’ma save my two cents ‘cause I don’t buy into your shit
This fire ignites, with the first sign of full moonlight
Nocturnal sun show gun with an insatiable appetite to rip mics with rhythmic
precision to spit this pumped up poetry the good lord has given
John the Baptist has arisen to chop heads with swing blades and guillotines
And beats are more addictive than sex, drugs and nicotine
More real than any shit that’s played on your TV screen
Gettin' you pumped up like steroids and creatine
Cause I does what I does ‘till I does it superb
I ain’t that white boy who raps that was raised in them ‘burbs
I’m that white boy who was raised flippin' birds
And in turn, what I looked and lived’s much different than yours
I was raised with those cats who would snatch up your purse
Take what you have to get what they feel they deserve
Then gung-ho, five-o, captain justice emerged and through the smoke immersed,
you could watch us disperse
It’s the gift and the curse of those whose born empty handed and at first I
wasn’t sure if I would be reprimanded
Stranded on an island of victimless crime or in my basement just lampin' with
my halogen lights
(?) stuck in the city’s maze, where we run the risk of AIDS and the next
bubonic plague
Money center stage.
My seven digits found well if you count the two that come
after the decimal place