| Recognize realize and visualize
|
| This miracle mind which is mine
|
| Son of a chainsmoker and crack pusher
|
| My family ties lines of cane cookers
|
| From the slums to the streets, the suites of South Beach
|
| The belt’s not far in my reach, rather unique
|
| Yeah my physique comes naturally, and actually
|
| Had a way with words since '83
|
| Maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s the surgery performed when I speak over beats
|
| It’s a emergency, yeah the young boy got his head bust
|
| Nowadays the gun talk, fuck going head-up
|
| I get fed up and furious
|
| But get relief from relief I receive from the Jewish chick
|
| She stupid rich, buy me boucoup gifts
|
| Like matzah bread, on some bar mitzvah shit
|
| I admit the gang mentality I represent
|
| Serves as a reality check for the intelligent
|
| Some real nigga shit, come follow it
|
| Second Verse
|
| Living in a mansion flossed out
|
| Chillin at the boss house
|
| Dont fuck around and get tossed out
|
| Like Jazzy Jeff outta Fresh house
|
| Niggas wanna press play, hey we the best out
|
| Niggas always leave the west out
|
| Actin like I can’t buy a house out in down south
|
| Or somewhere on the east coast
|
| Get a grill smile on my mouth like cheese toast
|
| Who the fuck gon' beast most
|
| Set it up like oscar de la hoya out in East Slopes (?)
|
| Or somewhere on the west side
|
| Where the best born, best die, Bedstuy
|
| Brooklyn, Canada back to the USA
|
| Black hats like NWA
|
| Black gats bringing trouble your way
|
| You know the strong arm steady don’t play
|
| I shift crack like pounds of the yay
|
| Smoke weed like I’m from the bay
|
| Still the most dangerous group coming outta CA
|
| It’s the strong arm steady
|
| Battle Axe Records y’all, y’all not ready, let’s go
|
| Third Verse
|
| We ride like violent horses
|
| I leave a pile of corpses
|
| Warlock inside my fortress
|
| I lost a fucking fortune
|
| Yeah, visionary verse developer
|
| Celebrate? |
| I get enough pills to kill a elephant
|
| And that’s relevant
|
| I’m hiding in a dark tent
|
| Pyromaniacs tongue-kissing on a park bench
|
| Utterly I mutter manslaughter with the meat cleaver
|
| Please believe it I breathe heat with deep reverb
|
| Dogtown, Z Boys, Rocksteady b-boys
|
| Redline Levis, plans being revised
|
| Quite tired, I bite tires, a white liar
|
| A drive-byer with five priors, a livewire
|
| Ey, I am some kinda hybrid
|
| Dopest rapper out, but I’m white like rye bread
|
| I’ll get a mohawk, go hard like Clubber Lang
|
| You in trouble mang, like a vampire with rubber fangs
|
| It’s time to get some retribution
|
| Forget a fucking trial we go straight to execution
|
| Fourth Verse
|
| Yeah, like you was gambling with the chief head honcho
|
| Not Gandolfini or Tonto
|
| We rock like Weather Report at the Montreax
|
| Casino Jazz Festival caught in different time zones
|
| We know like conventional thought, the triple line though
|
| They infinitesimaly small next to Hiero
|
| Adam to a ant, a wooden match to a canon that I had
|
| When they ran into my pad. |
| Grabbed it from my dad
|
| He said «Respect the power that it wields
|
| Cause a coward will reveal hisself
|
| Strength and character should supersede wealth
|
| And keep your mind clear, you won’t squeal for help.»
|
| I’m out for delph preservation
|
| The elder statesman
|
| Cracking all chastity belts with innovation
|
| Fuck 'em deep, non-virginal
|
| Terminally ill, personally kill mics
|
| Bust the verbal voodoo hex
|
| Murdering sets like the Colonel
|
| Flew out the cuckoo’s nest with two new Teks
|
| Check-nine-milli, I’m really bout my scrilli
|
| I’m droppin these club bombs til they give me mine, what
|
| Fifth Verse
|
| It go, Me broke in this economy? |
| Hell no
|
| Even the recession ain’t affecting them elbows
|
| So we sell those. |
| People be cheefing when they struggle
|
| I’m a beast when I hustle but I keep it on the humble
|
| Try to lay a finger on me, your people are in trouble
|
| I got Usalama (?), my peeps’ll be there on the double
|
| Bipolar so I could flip it any time
|
| And I don’t waste time spending my chips on any dime, I’m
|
| From Oakland, it’s cold there, maybe you known, player
|
| Baby could leave at any moment and I won’t hate 'er
|
| I’m warm though, and I won’t scorn those
|
| I know she’s coming back like '70s pornos
|
| So I tag graffiti on her lower back tat
|
| Kick back, relax up at the cul de sac flat
|
| These rappers is eunuchs, they acting, they cooning (?)
|
| My reaction after I slap 'em, they ruined, had to do it, yeah yeah… |