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I wouldn’ta came and said my name and run some weak shit,
Puttin’ blurbs and slurs and words that don’t fit
In a rhyme, why waste time on the microphone?
I take this more serious than just a poem.
Rockin’ party to party, backyard to yard,
I tear it up y’all…and bless the mic for the Gods.
Now, yo: Juice Crew’s the family, Slick Rick’s a friend of me
And Doug E. Fresh, Stet, KRS and Public Enemy.
Blahzay-blah, you know who you are:
The red, black and green, the sun, moon and star.
Knowledge of self is being taught here on after,
Peace in the name of I, Self, Lord and Master.
I come to teach and preach and reaching each
With the speech every leech I’ll impeach.
Drop science and build with math,
And the dumb, deaf and blind’ll feel the Wrath…of Kane.
Got the new Hummer in the summer when,
I was a newcomer then,
Drugs and Mac-10s, hugs from fake friends.
Make ends: they hate you,
Be broke: girls won’t date you.
Y’all niggaz ain’t rapping the same,
Fuck the flow, y’all jacking our slang,
I seen the same shit happen to Kane,
Three cuts in your eyebrow trying to wild out.
The game is ours, will never foul out,
Y’all just better hope we gracefully bow out.
Lyrically def and connecting, complete mic-wrecking…
No double-checking, vocals kill like weapons.
Never forget that I’m the one you thought wouldn’t make it.
I used to make money…now I just take it.
I know the price, know the risk, know the wrongs and the rights;
Still my blood flows ice…it’s just my life.
Talk…well I heard talk is cheap.
But like beauty, talk is just skin deep.
And when you lie and you talk a lot,
People tell you to step off a lot.
I’m outspoken; my language is broken into a slang,
But it’s just a dialect that I select when I hang.
Another day, another burial,
Got you wondering ’bout the day when they bury you.
Tear drops stain the Wally’s that you rockin’,
On the block, candles burn, guns poppin’.
It’s the message in the song that makes you rock on,
Some people go to places where they don’t belong.
Whether wrong or right, a lot of people fight,
But I’m here to bless this mic, aight?
In my heart, though, I do believe:
If you put out more love than you receive,
It’s bound to come back around, eventually.
No sheep clothing,
I wear wolf;
Howl at the moon.
Before I lay my head down to rest,
I roll up a nickel sack of cess to relieve the stress.
You know how it go when you got no dough:
Niggas goin out to party and you got no clothes.
And when you do get clothes, then you can’t go out
That’s the bullshit I’m talkin’ about.
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Dutch in my ear, Olde E in my palm,
I Freddy Krueger your face, Michael Myers your moms.
You botherin mine? That’s when I’m sparkin the nine.
You can tell by the rhyme it’s my time to shine;
Let’s eat, motherfucker, I don’t dine on swine.
I don’t beef with turkeys, I told you the God’ll fold you,
Hard to digest: I suggest that you take tofu.
Wake up: all of that ‘crack in the street’ talk?
It’s made up, like ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’
I don’t like thugs, I don’t like nerds,
I don’t like myself and I hate bein’ disturbed.
Ayo, the arm bone connected to the hand bone,
Nigga, the hand bone connected to the damn chrome!
Niggas’ rap albums sound like love letters,
Pen in my hand, like: damn, fam, I could do much better.
Gangsta rappers can’t fight, so they rap about guns.
Don’t mourn me when I’m gone, celebrate my travels;
Whenever you need me, just take a plane to the astral zones.
I give you life decoded,
Nicely quoted.
A simple right or left
Can mean life or death.
Epic fail, or nice success,
Days of pleasure…nights of stress.
Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit,
Everything you get you gotta work hard for it.
Honeys shake your hips, you don’t stop,
And niggas pack the clips, keep on…
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Been tested, ain’t fail: I’m tried and true.
When it’s all falling apart, my pride’s the glue.
I felt at times worthless…
Pulled shifts with shifty crime merchants,
Stained hearts, brainwashed by mind serpents.
The fact I’m still here, it’s clear it’s divine purpose.
This ain’t the world we thought it was when we as in pre-school.
Sometimes it’s hard to be cool, sometimes I feel like I’m see-through.
Sometimes I really wish…I wish that I could be you.
I used to want a Beemer, I used to want a Benz.
One thing that I never wanted was fake friends in the end.
I’m a true master, you can check my credentials
Cause I choose to use my infinite potential.
I’ll never understand why a wack rapper tries and
Convinces himself that his image is so fly and
That’s the type of crap you know I’m not buying…
Chumps lack the beats and their rhymes don’t apply.
30 rack on a neck of a artist (Say what?)
About another 20K on his arm (Say what?)
This nigga flashin’ 50 grand,
Walk around here, lookin like food for the wolves.
Listen! Illuminati rap: we don’t ride to that,
Everybody poppin’ molly…look at how they act.
(Y’all sweatin’) The whole place emotional,
Wake up to find out some dude’s Frank Ocean’ed you.
It’s like every step bring me close to destiny,
And every breath I get closer to the death of me.
I’m just tryna carry out my own legacy,
But the place I call home ain’t lettin’ me.
Classical slap-stick rappers need Chapstick.
Now if I worry too much about all my have nots,
I might not recognize just what I’ve got…
Happiness is temporary, always has been.
I just lost one…but sometimes I win,
I always spread love…but sometimes I sin.
Wrote this lyric from in the bed wit’ a chick
She had the tightest grip around the head of my…
…Bic. Now, can I get my pen back?
I’m pain in the spoken form;
This new strain came from where hope is gone.
Now when freaks get dressed to go out at night,
They like to wear leather jackets, chains and spikes.
They wear rips and zippers all in their shirts,
Real tight pants and fresh mini skirts.
All kinds of colors runnin’ through their hair,
And you could just about find a freak anywhere.
But then again, you could know someone all their life,
But might not know they’re a freak unless you see them at night.
Black boy, black boy, turn that shit down.
You know that America don’t wanna hear the sound
Of the bass drum jungle music, go back to Africa,
Nigga I’ll arrest ya if you’re holding up traffic.I’ll be damned if I listen, so cops save your breath
And write another ticket if you have any left.
And I’m breaking eardrums while I’m breaking the law,
I’m disturbing all the peace cause Sister Soldier said ‘War!’So catch me if you can, if you can, here’s a donut,
Cause once you drive away, yo, you know I’m gonna go nuts.
And turn it up to where it was before, nice try!
But you can’t stop the power of the bass in your eye.
You can’t tell a motherfucker what to do with his life,
Niggaz tend to live trife…so I react with the mic.
No-frill rappers: you will evaporate, disintegrate, deflate to your fate,
as the great will dominate straight to the state
Of reignin’, gainin’…So put Kane in
That category. Period. End of story.
Took a vow to protect and serve,
All you do is disrespect and murder.
I ask that you not hurt my kids;
This is where you work…this is where I live.
Once you find your lane, you can’t cruise;
When you define the game, you can’t lose.
And through our travels we get separated, never forget:
In order to survive, got to learn to live with regrets.
The Nets’ a stone throw from where I used to throw bricks
…So it’s only right I’m still tossing ‘round Knicks.
You named them: hustlers, killers, fiends, ex-cons.
I called them: cousins, aunts, pops, moms.
To you? Hoodlums, crackheads, gunmens.
To me? Just neighbors, classmates, young friends.