
Date of issue: 06.09.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Think Twice
Song language: English
Look Alive |
Fuck waiting for the beat ima crack these streets open like jailbreaks |
Sweet, the only flavor we can repeat |
With no stable mates breathing my savory breeze |
Fatally sneeze on the track, label it the greatest cd |
Dining table with the diamond needle squeaking on my vinyl plate |
Please, im trying to eat mc’s in peace |
Fry em em grease, you cook em live, ima repeat the hook and |
Jive to the illness think twice conceived |
Call it vibes, goodness, some kind of fuckin fly pudding |
If rap was tonic i put the cap on and shook it |
And douse dips, the house party kids i shout scripts |
The child golden chickens down loads with no mouse clicks |
If you choose to party like no tomorrow is due |
Get live with gold body |
Look alive |
And move your sorry ass |
Im hooked on your kind |
The glorious |
I floss raps, paper scraps, jaws and traps |
Stiletto metal cross etched in my neck bone |
Inverted words sketched on walls ghetto the kid |
Holding melon is gold, several karats, we’re old fellows |
My flow is the medicine |
Kept us in good health, whenever albums on the shelves are |
Embarrassing or they’re sedatives, i flex my mouth |
Every syllable a black dot spilling my ink |
On heavy chemical tablets i scratch thoughts |
You villains should think fast |
Shotgun miller genuine draft, drop your mic, dash |
Im nice like broads drunk |
God’s sons false like bronze fronts and ice rhinestones |
Yall just run around in circles like time zones |
Laid back and chillin |
Talk about the treats on the tv screen with my fellow james bond |
Villains swillin |
Everything short of a pigsty by picked eyelashes, thin |
We mixed dry gin and sip tastefully |
Dips with grace, bullies and high school scarfaces get laced |
Boogie and break |
I make sounds like wookie, get down with fly bookies |
Trying to pay me back with cookie baggies |
On the dance floor ducking like daney sippin was lucky |
Shuffle kicks, lazy gimps, fuckin crazy pimps |
With handstand punches, that stun bystanders |
And drunk chicks chewing up banana bunches |
We slide bannisters the camera shy amateurs night |
Shadowy crime fighter slash rhyme analyast |
We step syncopated, get a drink so fast my tip will hit the table |
After kids have drained it |
We pose half toasted |
Pull my half bow back and blow kiss prey frozen in the focus |
Like ice cubes, busy meltin in they fizzy melon mixes yo |
My flow is dizzy, seldom spoken with shitty fellows and punks trying |
To crowed me |
Only write rhymes when im drunk or when im drowsy the crown |
You only sound phony trying to pronounce your ownership of this |
In hip hop, or your town, city, and block |
Im like the fist knocking down boxers, claiming the shit they rub on |
My glove |
Is to fog their vision of being the top kid rocking a mic |
Like you was actually holdin a dick, not even beating off right |
What the fuck |
Name | Year |
---|---|
Under the Hood | 2007 |
Patience | 2007 |
Thats Just Gold | 2007 |
It Ain't Us | 2007 |
Life's Work | 2007 |
Put Ya Hands Up | 2007 |
My Tunes | 2007 |
Backroads Pt 2 | 2007 |
Dreams | 2007 |
Take Me Back | 2007 |
Lonely City | 2007 |
Backroads Pt 1 | 2007 |
Lampin | 2007 |
Fresh ft. Coates | 2007 |
Don't Get It Twist | 2007 |
The Kid Is Back | 2007 |
That Is Why | 2007 |
L City ft. Coates | 2007 |
Outro | 2007 |
With J ft. Jesse Maxwell | 2007 |