|
You have no graphs, no concepts, no nothing |
|
But then you criticize the rhymes that I'll be busting |
|
And in the process I can see that you ain't ready yet |
|
Recording demos and thinking that you can make me sweat |
|
You got no substance to the lyrics that you claim you wrote |
|
It doesn't matter how you came 'cause you'd leave broke |
|
One demo tape, one track, your ego boosted! |
|
Who wrote the lyrics? |
|
Who put you where you are? |
|
Who produced it? |
|
You got no skills, no talent, no individualism |
|
You got no style, no flow, you're out of time and rhythm |
|
I bet you never even held a mic before |
|
That's why you're scared of the stage when it's time to tour |
|
You never understood the meaning of concept |
|
Lyrics are full of depth and ideas connect |
|
Years of practicing to keep me well ahead of competition |
|
Sort of an inner vision keeps me focused on my mission, |
|
The matter at hand to stand tall, expand |
|
Cross the Atlantic and conquer each and every land |
|
The United States, Japan, Australia |
|
Africa, Asia, Mars, Arabia |
|
It took years of heart breaking, brain digging |
|
Even though times were rough, rhyme bombs were ticking! |
|
Time slipping through your finger tips, gradually |
|
Everything organized, I leave you paralyzed |
|
'Coz... |
|
Stop! Think about it for a minute |
|
Now that I'm here your over rated time on air waves is finished |
|
The truth has finally been accepted by the listeners |
|
Your rhymes irrelevant, you got a nerve to be dissing us |
|
Soon as we're gone you're missing us, to be accurate |
|
You killing the scene only for me to resuscitate |
|
It takes time, hell of a mind, hell of a structure |
|
Hell of a composure even down to the way you touch the |
|
Mic is my only artillery |
|
Lyrics are the ammo and concepts are deadly |
|
But you don't understand so you criticize |
|
Surprised to see me rise, jealousy's in your eyes |
|
And you're too busy being disorganize |
|
Dwelling on a next man's style to build your enterprise |
|
You ain't equipped for this, you need practice |
|
Don't bother react to this 'cause you don't have a knack for this |
|
Sort of a strategy, planning the way it has to be |
|
So the day I die I'll be the legendary emcee |
|
'Till death does part me from the art form |
|
I'll be the storm |
|
A life time experience, without a shadow of doubt |
|
No doubt, this is what Hip Hop is about. |
|
I'm glad you were here for this, God gave you an ear for this |
|
Rhyme exhibitionist, pure unadulterated lyricist |
|
A paragraph drawn into graph |
|
Transformed into a song so I'll have the last laugh |
|
Sheer excellence for tomorrow |
|
You borrow and imitate but still sound hollow |
|
Then follow from faze to fashion with passion |
|
City lights are flashing, real rap swallowed up in rations |
|
You can only dream to write like I write, I might |
|
Ignite, confuse and leave you blinded by the light |
|
'Cause I been working on graphs, concepts and all of that |
|
Making it difficult for those who might try to follow that |
|
Thinking they can handle the pressure, the art combined with heart |
|
Blowing 'em apart, ain't nobody fresher |