Hardcore featuring Smile-Oak
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Lyrics
I wreck shop with no bullshit in my China store
Lord, radio matador, reading the meter board
Latin that didn't introduce Staten aboard a ship
Your mother (don't say it!) rides the benefit people through the
Maneuver loops like a Six Flags engineer
Pursue a career in enlightening
And if you read about that test sightin'
Astronomers seen the silhouette of my face in
Deep space right in place of a white dwarf
I'm mentally marked to enlist my skills when needed
Creativity preceded existence
We soul universal, internal kernel
Parallel perception, infernal corrections with
Command that Mr. Hell mock, I rock like the comet
You're dubbing out my tapes cause your crew want it
Your posse's gay like a bonnet, so it's hitting right
I sign it, pad and paper second I put my pen on it
Implode, cable complete
Alita, tell your brother I'm on the phone, he not home?
You got the message and I'm gone
I'm more sporadic, nomadic, static addict
I wreak chromatic havoc with emphatic grammatics
Transatlantic Titanic-type panic
And turn dynamic semantic galactic syllabics to granite
Incensed in a sense, in a sense past sense
In a sentence, present tense, past tense in a sentence
Gain fame from imprints, imminence from dissidents
Influence and increments through instruments of impotence
Our semblance of symbience through sentence and content
Implementation of syncopation shows musical inclination
Tracing the styles into the future with innovation
And leaving nothing but imprints for the next generation
Their interpretation of my iterations may lay the foundation
Of a future generation and a civilization one day
The oration of notation placing hope on civilization
Imagination and communication in a way
Equivocation and gentrification and segregation
Have no place in the hip-hop nation, so stay tuned!
Hey Mon, who told you you could rap?
You fat, word, I'm checking, soon as you done, nigga, I'm flexing
Like buckwild bitches, check your riches for my bags
You the last one, but the first, freestyling in a hearse
Hurt nigga, should've listened to your crew
Now them niggas pouring forty, smoking blunts for you
Man missing all the fun, mad bitches all the place
No longer a citizen, from now on, you sucker face
Pull up your drawers, bitch, proceed to run this way
Be embarrassed to see that they ain't got shit to say
Except, "Nigga, don't you know this is such and such?
Man, you the dope MC, a C-note for shit, worry free"
Now that's a joke that wasn't funny like WB sitcoms
Sit calm and check the Three Amigos riff
While you sip on that shit that got your pockets in zip mode
You fall like your grandma when she drunk on Thanksgiving
Got the tightest off-body styles that can't move jack
Put some time on your rhymes and give me the five on the sack
Cause I've been there, but back at it, nigga, and still doing it
Put your grill in my face on some more silly shit, yo, I'll ruin it
Uh, I ain't never heard nobody rap like that
You coming up with something dope, no need to worry about that
Yo, just kick back, relax, pray that one day you'll be alright
Yo, we killing it, right? Haha, yeah, right