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Bootie Brown: |
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Let me freak the funk, |
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obsolete is the punk that talk more junk than Sanford sells |
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I jet propel at a rate that complicate their mental state |
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as I invade their masquerade |
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they couldn't fade with a clipper blade |
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10 years in the trade is not enough, you can't cut it |
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I let you take a swing, and you bunted |
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for an easy out, I leave MCs with doubt |
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of exceeding, my name is Bootie Brown and I'm proceeding, leading, |
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they try to follow but they're shallow and hollow |
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I can see right through them like an empty 40 bottle, of O.E. |
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they have no key, or no clue |
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to the game at all |
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now they washed up |
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hung out to dry |
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standing looking stupid |
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wondering why |
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(why man?) |
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it was the fame, that they tried to get |
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now they walking around talkin about represent |
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and keep it real, but I got to appeal |
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cause they existing in a fantasy when holding the steel |
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Slim Kid 3: |
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rock a bye baby, |
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listen to your heart beat pumping to a fine |
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ravine of all things it's a vain of a shrine |
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all missions impossible are possible, cause I'm |
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heading for a new sector 365 |
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days fron now, I'll wipe the sweat from my eye |
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and each and every true will stick, or fall from the skies of my cloud nine |
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from homies all the way to chicks, no matter how fine |
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controlling is a swollen way to wreck a proud mind |
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you hold it in your hands and watch a man start crying |
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tear after tear in the puppet man's hands |
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every time you take a stance you do the puppet man's dance |
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and the worlds at a stand-still |
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deep in broken mansville |
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trapped in the moat with an anvil, still |
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killing yourself, and dogging ya health |
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you ain't amphibious, so grab a hold of yourself |
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Knumbskull #1: |
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(shit is-shit is ill) |
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through my will |
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my flow still will spill |
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toxic slick to shock sick like electrocute |
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when I execute, acutely over the rhythm |
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on those that pollute, extra dosages is what I gotta give em |
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got em mad and tremblin |
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cause I been up in my lab assemblin |
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misslies, to bomb the enemy |
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because they envy me, and the making of my mad currency |
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currently I think we're in a state of an emergency |
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cause niggas done sold their souls, and now their souls is hollow |
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and I think they can't follow |
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they can't swallow, the truth because it hurts |
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this is how I put it down, this is my earth, my turf |
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the worth of my birth is a billion, and you know what time it is |
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I'm going to make a million |
