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Verse 1 |
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I put my life in this game and vow to always kill it |
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Make you fuckin' feel it with blood I gotta spill it fo real |
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I got a lifeliine of thoughts up in a lifetime |
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A beast of burned words that blazed just at the right time |
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Heat my own fury and spwak with no worries |
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No trial fuck a judge I can be my own jury |
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In no hurry I'm raw like porn scenes with no rubbers |
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And I'll rip like torn seams |
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A cursed bastard on wax and not plastic |
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I'm here to shake the world with a verse that's so drastic |
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Go spastic with mics beats and sarcastic speech |
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Til your parents scream 'That kids fantastic!' |
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Went from the corners in hoods with slurred words |
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40 bottles, white girls in suburbs |
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Now I'm here to reach out to anyone with an ear |
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The new Johnny's in town I'm taking over this year |
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CHORUS |
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(I'd like to make an introduction) |
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Muthafuckas! |
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(I'd like to make an introduction) |
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(I'd like to make an introduction) |
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It's the H-U-S-H |
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(I'd like to make an introduction) |
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Bitch ass! |
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(I'd like to make an introduction) |
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(I'd like to make an introduction) |
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It's the H-U-S-H |
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Verse 2 |
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I'm a Detroit villian from streets |
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Where the cold can crush a man in just 0 degrees and emcees |
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Can spit sick flows in the streets to sick beats |
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We get dirty in the D and the dirt is discreet |
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Rub me the wrong way and I'll spark and cry pain |
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I'm a walking matchstick with gasoline in my veins |
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I'm known to shape shift on rappers that ain't shit |
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Put ya best emcee to the test he can't spit |
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I come from the city of boom and Motown |
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When the shit gets thick in the D it goes down |
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It's like the wild wild west and I'm Billy the Kid |
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Silly of kids to go against the realest at this |
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For all you other muthafuckas with nerve can get served |
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Or come to a fork in the road and don't swerve |
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Bitch I'm not your friend this time you met your maker |
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Not the butcher, the baker or the candlestick maker |
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CHORUS |
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Verse 3 |
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I can't stand it when I think to much |
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Sick thoughts drive me drunk and I start to lose touch |
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My thoughts turn into homicidal poetry |
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Every time I murda these beats you gotta know it's me |
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I step to the plate with a sense of hip-hop |
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Cuz it's kill or be killed when I rhyme or get shot |
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Don't talk the talk if you can't walk the walk |
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Cuz you know phony rappers get outlined in chalk |
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I'm the king of my own throne the rest are bystanders |
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Walking the streets with a grudge like Highlanders |
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Where I'm from the smiles are just frowns |
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And when the guns go up somebody comes down |
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Dark clouds cover my city all day |
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And the sun doesn't shine in the spots that we play |
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We rip mics and turn verse to presentation |
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So you can see in our world exactly what we facin? |
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CHORUS |
