Lyrics
Aight
The mic sound right so set it, what
When I’m done fucking up the mic, I embed it nuff
So let me do my thing thing, shoutouts to Sing-Sing
Broadway, Rikers and them niggas the lifers
My brothers Kevin, Kane, went down for a nickel
And me want to smoke some pork then sick em with a pickle
That’s why I gotta stay in my rep
Cause I don’t rest and I don’t test
And don’t flinch
You about an inch from sinch zack
Back to the stack, save the act for acts
So he could giggle while you wiggle and wallow
You can’t swallow, can you?
I command you, I can’t stand you so I damn you
Into the dark, heart, who goes?
I know you got a record but you’re whack at the shows
So if you’re thinking about, about ya self
Don’t even go there (Where?)
Don’t even go that route
Its only getting worse
I think I’m gonna burst
Its only getting worse
I know I’m gonna burst
Its only getting worse
I’m about to burst
Its only getting worse
Yo I’m gonna burst
I’m taking over the venue, so pretend you was the ???
Disperse this verse, mic first
Lyrical disaster, faster and faster, past the speed of sound
Give me a track and I’mma beat it down
No need to axe me twice, I whack spice
Quite nicely, thanks and yourself
Oh my bad, you never had no skill
Well not until you heard me get ill
Don’t ever try to lie to the provider
I back smack your whack ass back to class
You didn’t pass, I should’ve had you selling that ass
But I gotta get back to the community black
So here’s more styles to memorize, rise
I wreck and resurrect, build and still kill
And I’m still ill, see skill
You can’t go against such immense defense
And it’s only getting worse so it don’t make sense
I arrange the strange, interchanging
Raging, letter paging, getting better as I’m aging
I’m not new to this, I rooted this
Chirst rap like, so now I’m in the mix
But I won’t dilute so I shoot and I shoot
No retreat, you better know the street, 31st
Yo its only getting worse on church
They search where I lurk
But I murk too swift as I past 3−5th
With a spliff, don’t shift
Cuz I got the auto, with a clutch you can’t touch
Listen to the hammer, quick
That’s what’s up, now what?
Shut up, I don’t mud up
You get dug up or drug up
To the lock away on rockaway
The hell lab, shit is mad
Hot up in the piece
They shot up the beast
So the lights won’t come
Plus we don’t run son, done