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I’m your Mr., you my Mrs. with hugs and kisses,
Valentine cards and birthday wishes?
Please…be on another level of planning, of understanding
The bond between man and woman and child.
The highest elevation, cause we above
All that romance crap, just show your love.
Smell the pinetrees in the air, sleigh bells are ringing,
Toy stores are out of control, and kids singing.
That night before Christmas, dashing through the snow,
Rudolph the Reindeer, red nose that glow.
It’s all about the candy canes and Christmas list,
North Pole and that chubby, jolly, old Saint Nick,
The little elves getting busy, in Santa workshop
And how gingerbread men keep they buttons on top.
Wooden soldiers and chestnuts, roasting like marshmallows
Goodfellas, chocolate pudding pops and Jell-O’s.
It’s the gift, the cookies and milk on the mantle,
The mistletoe, that scent from that peppermint candles,
That warm French vanilla, mean coat with zippers,
Bareskin robe dragon with Versace slippers.
Around the fireplace we breathe, shirts are short sleeve,
We stayin’ up all night on Christmas Eve!
A born terror, a rebel without a pause…
Ain’t never had a good Christmas, so who is Santa Claus?
I be tossin’, enforcin’, my style is awesome.
I’m causin’ more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson.
And the survey said: “You’re dead.”
Fatal Flying Guillotine chops off your fuckin’ head!
I come strong, I make knowledge born,
I flip the script and rock on
From P.M. past to fucking Dawn.
Doin forever shit: like pissin out the window on turnpikes,
Robbin niggaz for leathers, high swipin on dirt bikes.
I smoke on the mic like Smokin’ Joe Frazier,
The hell raiser, raisin’ hell with the flavor.
Too many songs, weak rhymes that’s mad long.
Make it brief son: half short, twice strong!
First of all, who’s your A&R?
A mountain climber who plays an electric guitar?
But he don’t know the meaning of dope,
When he’s lookin for a suit and tie rap
That’s cleaner than a bar of soap!
And I’m the dirtiest thing in sight,
Matter of fact, bring out the girls and let’s have a mud fight.
I call my brother ‘Sun’ cause he shine like one.
I stay dipped like the first day of school.
I got a smile that’ll make the mirror crack,
And I seem to stay under clouds that’s pitch black.
So when it rains, it pours, and when it pours, I’m soaked.
I contracted lung cancer from third hand smoke,
And I’m like the frog that’s dying to be a prince,
The boy who cried wolf and no one was convinced.
The man who hit lotto and lost his ticket,
In a rainstorm…and struck by lightning trying to get it.
I’m the one-man army Ason
I’ve never been tooken out…I keep MC’s lookin’ out.
I drop science like girls be dropping babies,
Enough to make a nigga go craaaaazy!
Roll big blunts, a whole ounce of reefer
Rocked that ‘Black and Yellow’ before Wiz Khalifa
It’s a killer bee color scheme
Can you cook darlin? At the stove you’re revolvin’…
Bake macaroni, turkey wings, a nigga starvin
Here take my number, let me pull the chair from under
I had fun, plus your backyard speak with thunder!
This is a robbery, boy, gimme them dollars.
We hit the lottery, boy, it’s in ya wallets!
Nowadays, you gots ta walk the street and watch your back,
Cause brothers with the gats don’t be knowin’ how to act.
Leave it up to me while I be livin’ proof,
To kick the truth to the young black youth.
Took two drags off the blunts, and started breaking down the flag:
The blue is for the Crips, the red is for the Bloods,
The whites for the cops, and the stars come from the clubs
Or the slugs that ignite, through the night,
By the dawn early light, why is sons fighting for the stripe?
I won’t hesitate to detonate, I’m short fused.
You’re out of luck like two dogs stuck.
Raw I’mma give it to ya, with no trivia.
Raw like cocaine straight from Bolivia.
There are few things that’s forever, my lady.
We can make war or make babies.
If you can’t live, you dying,
You give or you buy in.
Keep it real or keep it moving,
Keep grinding, keep shining.
Microphone checka, swingin’ sword lecture,
Closin’ down the sector, supreme neck protector.
Better warn ‘em kid…Mr. Meth’s a boiling pot
About to blow his lid from the pressure.
You can see the weakness of a man right through his iris.
Make peace not war, make babies some more, Keep a smile when you travel from shore to shore.
My peoples: if you with me where the fuck you at?
Full moons, skunk weed all up in the room;
You got the munchies, baby? Ice cold milk and Lorna Doones.
It’s for real though, let’s connect, politic…ditto!
We could trade places, get lifted in the staircases,
Word up, peace, incarcerated scarfaces.
My vocab is powerful, spit shit subliminal,
Slang therapist, my whole style is criminal.
Bugged like Bob Digital, fly visual,
Mind, body and soul, I’m a strong individual…
Come through in the final hour, with gun showers
Stand the fuck up like Flav to fight the power.
I’m an activist, socialist, deadly ass poetist
Supreme Clientele, I’m a goddamn vocalist!
Sometimes I look up at the stars and analyze the sky,
And ask myself: was I meant to be here…why?
Fuck the Febreze, I’m stinkin’ like that Ol’ Dirty Bastard.
That’s that Wu and Mobb shit; don’t turn it up…blast it.
I got a smile that’ll make the mirror crack,
And I seem to stay under clouds that’s pitch black.
So when it rains, it pours, and when it pours, I’m soaked.
I contracted lung cancer from third hand smoke,
And I’m like the frog that’s dying to be a prince,
The boy who cried wolf and no one was convinced.
The man who hit lotto and lost his ticket,
In a rainstorm…and struck by lightning trying to get it.
It was the beauty that caught me and held my soul hostage…
Remember those days? Had you smellin’ my boxers.
Working hard may help you maintain,
To learn to overcome the heartaches and pain.
I’m on some tax-free shit by any means,
Whether bound to hit scheme or some counterfeit C.R.E.A.M.
Cocaine trafficking, your boy’s back again,
Moving bricks like I got a degree in scaffolding.
Fucking with some cats from Newark…half of them Jewish,
Cool white boys riding around, blasting my music,
And I’m taxin’ them like Jackson-Hewitt.
I be tossin’, enforcin’, my style is awesome.
I’m causin’ more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson.
And the survey said: “You’re dead.”
Fatal Flying Guillotine chops off your fuckin’ head!
Take a sip from the cup of death…
And when you’re shaking my right hand, I’ll stab you with the left.
I got beef with commercial-ass niggas with gold teeth
Lampin’ in a Lexus eatin’ beef.
Complainin’ to my lawyer how this rookie tried to frisk me…
Jealous of my jeep, I gave his badge to the chief,
And got his ass directin’ traffic in the heat for a week.
Cats be talkin’, “Bobby I ain’t feelin’ ya.”
But I bet if I was peelin’ your cap back with a two-shot Dillinger
Hot lead released from my cylinder,
You’d be talkin’ ‘bout, “Bobby I’m feelin’ ya!”