Whoever underestimated, still waited,
Pumping the radio, finally they played it.
You wondered how come the album was late?
I was giving you time to get the last one straight.
The scene of a crime every night at the show,
The fiend of a rhyme on the mic that you know.
It’s only one capable; breaks, the unbreakable.
Melodies, unmakable; pattern, unescapable.
I guess nobody told you a little knowledge is dangerous,
It can’t be mixed, diluted, it can’t be changed or switched.
Here’s a lesson if you’re guessing and borrowing:
Hurry, hurry step right up and keep following the leader.
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.