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Haha. Yo. DC, yo...it's 'bout time we connected. Hahaha. |
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R.E.K.S. Let's go. Haha, Lawtown. Massachusetts. |
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'Bout to be a problem y'all. You know, I know. Haha. I know. Yo |
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[Verse One] |
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Feel it's imperative, rappers get they sedatives |
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Record is, definition, given in the dictionary |
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For spittin' so effortless |
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Every breath is, as if, I'm the game of Tetris |
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Hold any block down |
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Name any block 'round, I connect with it |
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Legendary street etiquette |
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Boilin' kettle with, steamin' rhetoric |
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Aimin' taunts at the faults of the hecklers |
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Let go ridiculous metaphors I was meant for this |
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Shit |
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Spit tighter than virgin vagina |
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The kind of rhymer blind ya with the necklaces |
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Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde before I let off with this |
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(Kiss kiss) Bang bang |
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Man, I be on some shit kid |
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Knight Rider with the army on ya, owe ya honor |
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I was tryin' to calm him but he felt he had to touch the sauna |
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Told him good karma come upon you like tsunami waves |
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Forget the problems it's peace |
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Two fingers waved |
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[Chorus] [x2] |
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Don't add insult to injury |
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Hurt yourself fuckin' with R.E. |
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K.S., yes Reks a vet, sorry |
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All these rappers ain't shit next to me |
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[Verse Two] |
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Ya see, rappers hyperventilate |
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When I'm in a spittin' state |
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Innovate rhymes, put your mind on the dinner plate |
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Ain't a fuckin' line in my rhymes niggas can debate |
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Spit them 8 by 8's with tongue on skates |
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(Zip by) |
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With the zip drive |
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High to the face |
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And I don't smoke lye but my mind outer space |
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I can fly to the gates of Heaven with the Reverend, say grace |
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With the angels then race to Earth, spit a verse |
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At 11:00 at a showcase |
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Flow way |
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Beyond your slow pace |
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Zoo to blow, move the fo's, domes shake |
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Don't hate |
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Don't make me irate |
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I put my heavyweight bars against your featherweights any day |
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Anyway |
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Movin' along, spewin' the bomb lyricals |
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I'll do to the song what mom's do to umbilicals |
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Rip it to shreds, I'm sick with the lead |
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Not just the top, but to the paper's bottom edge |
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[Chorus] [x2] |
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Don't add insult to injury |
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Hurt yourself fuckin' with R.E. |
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K.S., yes Reks a vet, sorry |
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All these rappers ain't shit next to me |
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[Verse Three] |
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Yo, call the doctor, call the nurse |
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I got a burst that hurts the worst |
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Put bitches in stitches, vicious with words, pronouns and verbs, I'ma |
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Beast with grammar kinda like literature teachers |
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Rip to pieces any MC's thesis |
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Jesus |
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I thirst for 16's with spleens with spittage |
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Admit |
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Rather obscene lyrics in doors |
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I'ma |
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Force to be reckoned with, wreckin' shit |
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Is of course the one causin' vibration in the mic cords |
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Swords sharpen |
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The boy poppin' off of the gum |
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Got a flame in the belly that heat up the tongue |
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Cough up a lung, where I'm from |
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Niggas stay high, chinky eyed |
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And Reks symbolize anything fly |
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Ride Honda Civics slow |
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Shuffle through the slow |
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When we too small for hoopin' so we gotta sell blow |
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Or we gotta flow like Krumb |
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Scientifik, damn we lost one |
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It's only right |
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We hold the torch son |
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[Chorus] [x2] |
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Don't add insult to injury |
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Hurt yourself fuckin' with R.E. |
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K.S., yes Reks a vet, sorry |
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All these rappers ain't shit next to me |
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Next to me |
