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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!”
Feeling mad hostile, wearing Aéropostale,
Flowing like Christ when I speaks the gospel.
War’s extremely serious and it saddens me.
A day to God is a thousand years,
Men walk around with a thousand fears.
The true joy of love brings a thousand tears,
In the world of desire, there’s a thousand snares.
Those who flashin’ don’t blast, they still buffoons,
Just blowin out hot air, they should fill balloons.
I’m like them shorties that could kill for goons,
They started hustlin’ in April to cop wheels in June.
I got mouths to feed,
Unnecessary beef is more cows to breed.
It was magic, I felt the bond between us.
She was a jelly to my peanuts, Mars to Venus,
The Earth to my sun, moon and stars,
We added up mathematically…
It’s like I had a bad habit, B!
What is the meaning of C.R.I.M.E.?
Is it Criminals Robbin’ Innocent Muthafuckaz Everytime?
Why is the sky blue? Why is water wet?
Why did Judas rat to the Romans while Jesus slept?
I throw raps that attack like the Japs on Pearl Harbor.
MC’s be out like bank robbers,
Fleeing the scene, to be a sole survivor;
DJ…the getaway driver.
We were at the same table when the chips were checked,
A gamblin’ rebel who inspects the deck.
Just when you thought we would fold our hand,
Against all odds, we raised the bet like we changed the plans.
It was live on air, but in between station breaks,
I was holdin a pair and just made the table stakes.
Split the demos, put insurance on tapes,
A safeguard against the crusaders in capes.
If I double-down, they say the Gods are sharks;
If we win against the house, they thought the cards was marked.
We draw hit after hit from a royal flush menu,
While the dealer promoted the full house venue.
A spade in the club with the heart to wear diamonds,
The high roller who got credit upon signin’.
They look puzzled when I shuffle, most of ‘em stunned by the hustle,
Recourse of bluff game’s your muscle.
Ghostface, catch the blast of a hype verse,
My glock bursts, leave in a hearse, I did worse.
I come rough, tough like an elephant tusk,
Ya head rush, fly like Egyptian musk.
The God’s tropical…ladies call me ‘Black Fruit Punch.’
I judge wisely…as if nothin ever surprise me,
Loungin, between two pillars of ivory.
I’m lively, my dome piece is like buildin stones in Greece.
My poems are deep, from ancient thrones I speak.
Now what Clan you know with lines this ill?
Bust shots at Big Ben, like we got time to kill.
Keep my planets in orbit,
Never forfeit or quit,
Move forward…
I talk with the awkward slang,
I walk with the Wu-Tang.
Like my man Muhammad from Afghanistan:
Grew up in Iran, the nigga runs a neighborhood newsstand.
A wild Middle Eastern…bomb specialist,
Initiated at eleven to be a terrorist.
He set bombs in bottles of champagne
And when niggaz popped the cork, niggaz lost half they brains.
Niggas is decaf, I stick ‘em for the C.R.E.A.M.
This is doomsday for MCs with hollow skills,
Who talk about clothing articles and dollar bills,
And fake ass rides that they don’t even drive.
Hip-hop is war and only strong MCs will survive.