Stranger Things
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Uh huh
I learned from the Style Warriors, B-boys, savants and Sadhus
With time flying by me at the speed that thoughts move
Homage to the lost laureates that got loose
And laid the groundwork since grade school and boxed juice
When they were sportin' shell toes to class
I had the Ninja Turtle joints with the velcro straps
Generation after generation, pass the baton
I'll turn the party out, you throw a couple stacks in my palm
Heard the gospel accordin' to Nas on Plug Two
When life was more Lord of the Flies than Krush Groove
After school scraps in Crackville, cap peeled
Late nights scrawlin' my name, watchin' for brass shields
Dimes, quarters and halves, practicin' math skills
Growin' up too fast with glass half filled
Every child needs a patient word
Every painted bird needs space to process what they observe
Let's end it with a bang like when Adam split apart
I aim to fuel the flames of the true and livin' spark
Make her hit the mark, knocked it out to Wrigley Park
Razor sharp, tailor made to complement the written art
Yes indeed
If you don't feel this check your pulse
It's like angel butter on your breakfast toast
Yeah, before Andre was called Three Stacks
I got my liquor education off of Mobb Deep tracks
The Prodigy, my favorite rapper at times caught me flack
Sold inside of larceny, the cops had caught me flat
Tell the man behind the best dash, run it back Eric Metcalf
My handle was tight but I couldn't nail that step back
It was Descartes prose, Medeila Sol
I think therefore I am, I be dope
Smoke it if you got it, twice to threefold
Goldeneye silo, got nice with the cheat codes
Scrambled spice channel dog, see what I see though
In AAU I copied KG on my free throws
If the weed laced need quick feet for police chase
Heartbeat accelerate like Bob James' beat breaks
Damage was fantastic, nine mili's in deep space
My man's grams point eight, I knew he's a cheapskate
My boy got a DUI, ran straight in a mailbox
I lost my V-Card the week Supreme Clientele dropped
And Gus a big homie, I would meet him at his crib
Like Bela Karolyi who taught me the art of the flick
Not yet humble, still talkin' my shit
Every dumb young boy needs to grow up
A bit when he gets popped in the lip
And I won my first scrap but I lost my second bad
But if I had to run it back I wouldn't take a second back
Yeah, what's up Magen?
If you ain't feelin' this then check them vital signs
Before dotted lines are effectin' the bottom line