Lyrics This Space - Wise Intelligent

This Space

This ain’t no sipping tea
Nigga better stop tripping, G
Soon every emcee will see
Why none of these other emcees fuck with me
Ruff!
Because I’m old school nigga
Bonneville!
Like a old school whipper
Got a mill!
Ain’t no spitter sicker
Can’t no spitter script a iller script a living scripture
I’m the victor so I figure
Can’t a mirror paint a picture clearer
Ain’t no cross dressers from my era
Jah pretenders or no Caitlyn Jenners
Yeah I chopped my antennas
Other-worldly was my early lyrical communications
There were spaces from the places I received initiation
So in basic conversations I was flying over niggas heads
In layman’s terms I had to chop the dreads
To check the game and rap is off the bed <—
Crimson trace on his face — shot off his head!
We call it murderer style
Don’t make me bury a child
I’ll be here for a while so prepare for me now
And be ready when the shit goes down
Mag pull 30 rounds that’s another going down
Mad fools mean clowns brass ??
clash sounds <—
Drop a jewel, give a pound
Stevie Wallace nigga do the knowledge
Never hatin' but ths space requires patience
To be great but nominated rap’s greatest most underrated
And that’s gotta be the greatest fuckin' understatement
You wonder why we lacking as a nation
Y’all be acting like we crazy
When we sayin rap is more than entertainment
Then some crackers came and changed it
Now all your rappers say the same shit
Make a mil, pop a pill, throwing up some gang shit
Running from the cops but other blacks think you bang with <—
This space hurt, excuse my fucking language
It’s like a famous, far from what the game is
Name on the same list
Because your favorite rapper know me
You think I rap and lil homie
But I’m it’s progenitor
Veteran, been at war
My whole race in a hurt space, I ain’t bitter or
Bitching ‘bout a rap rep
Listen, I’mma rap rep Trenton to the fullest
Spittin' bullets, better back step
Do it in the name of love, Machine Gun Kelly
A-R but not the R pissin' on your daughters belly
I’m the truth like really
You niggas sound silly
When you say you love your niggas but have no love for your women
Seeing niggas hugging kissing
Seeing women duck and diss em
How the fuck you don’t feel em?
They the mothers of your children
The only thing appealing is the cap for your bald cap
Whole head snap back, knocking off his snap back
Fuck it, let’s just say liberated from the crack trap
Go home flush his crack packs
Hacked into his ProTools, erase all the wack raps
The music, on the overused trap tracks
That’s that — scratch that, I’m almost ready
Hurt locker, booth rocker, call me
Slap a cracker if I hafta, like Sara Suten Seti
While these rappers making cake just to date Lil Debbie
I’m with runnin' devils from
And I’m hot, Serengeti
No I’m not sparing lefties
You know, righteous racist liberals who won’t speak it but detest me
Call the cops, hope they arrest me
Turn my sunny day gray, I be more like Freddie
Say he feared for his life to justifiably get me
Hold on wait a minute let me address this space correctly
Devil’s
A transvestite wins the Espy
Seems like nothing in this space, gonna serve or protect me
So I study Amos Wilson and convey it to my children
Dr. Bobby Wright was right, Mentacide is in the building
Exit into B. F. Skinner, overwriting what your will is
If we control resources, we can turn poor kids to killers
Even though we engineered it, they would never think to kill us
So we can keep convincing half the poor the other half’s the villain
And they can do our dirty work, so we don’t have to kill em
The nature of this space is race related — no opinion
Decimated, melinated corpses forced in graves and prisons
Young black voices drowned out by this «all lives» meta-sickness
See this space is so systemic
It’s endemic anti-blackness is inherent
It’s foreparents planned it this way that’s apparent