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(feat. O.C., Rasco, Reef the Lost Cauze, Wordsworth) |
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[O.C.:] |
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Snowgoons... one two |
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Heheahahaha, uhh |
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Yeah? Yeah... |
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Yo, feast your eyes, two double oh-five |
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While two double oh-six is here |
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My energy be for all to accept and hear |
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I'm not ashamed for the ten years plus in that game, won't refrain |
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O.C., speak my mind cause I ain't no lame |
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Never defendin, creates my own lane |
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Long live the saga, with a clear slate clear head these days |
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Works for hire, possible if I'm prepaid |
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Welcome me back, give a toast to my libido flow |
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Similar to sex spurnt from my urethra |
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Friction, give off heat like a fever |
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Good lucks for those who wish, I don't need it |
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Much to my amazement, or should I say that I'm not surprised |
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I still reside in the basement |
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Wits and charm is what bless this tongue |
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Along with the mindstate for me to write these songs |
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Uhh |
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[Chorus: O.C. + Wordsworth] |
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No pain, no gain, no guts, no glory |
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This ain't another war story, this is trill |
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My heart, my brain got the will to survive |
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In my shoes, you wouldn't make it out alive, no |
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These young rappers in the game ain't got nuttin for me |
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This ain't another war story, this is trill |
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My heart, my brain got the will to survive |
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In my shoes, you wouldn't make it out alive, no |
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[Reef the Lost Cauze:] |
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Dead in the middle of Germany, puffin herbally |
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Observe me as I absurdably murder beats verbally to the third degree |
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I ain't no nerd or freak, I'm the word, the streak |
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That works Shareef, peace, nice to meet |
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I need a, mic to eat, a track to bash |
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Your shit is whack, it's trash, I just have to ask |
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You just playin right? You can't be tryin |
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I'll blow you the **** away like a dandelion |
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Be a man c'mon now, you can't be cryin |
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My next album six figures or I shan't be signin |
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I'm so independent I'll GO independent |
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Get dough independent, I SMOKE independents~! |
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The most mentally ill, so gifted and real, the spit that can kill |
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Pick up the mic it's like I lift up the steel |
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Aim it at your temple, now how that feel? |
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It hurts like a mother****er don't it? Now bow down and kneel |
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[Chorus] |
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[Rasco:] |
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Look, yo |
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Man I'm back for it, it's the black poet |
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Sit down spit rhymes just to get the stacks flowin |
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You cats ain't knowin, man I'm back for revenge |
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The real shit, never had to pretend |
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Shatter your shins, nigga go and gather your ends |
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Call your friends, forgivin you for all your sins |
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It all begins, right here, makin it quite clear |
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It's twenty-oh-six, make sure it's the right year |
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To your right ear, or your left lobe |
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Still swingin hard, then watch a nigga's chest fold |
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Get this dress code, I spit the best flows |
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No cat better than Ras to stack cheddar |
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You all falsetto with no bass and no taste |
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Bring it to you live at sunrise at yo' place |
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I give 'em no space, we on a dough chase |
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Niggaz can't get it cause they movin at a slow pace |
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[Chorus] |
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[Outro:] |
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Yeah, Dick Swan in the building |
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Snowgoons, live |
