Who I Am
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Lyrics
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Mr. Dead, Set Free, B-Most
Coming through your area
With the fatality, shit is scarier
I'm about to get into this shit
Yo B-Most, you know how to do it
Yo Free, you know how to do it
You know, it's all about who I am
You know what I mean
First of all, the D stands for digesting
Any motherfucker coming raw trying to test the
Skills of the Dead, the death-defying bastard
Blasting from here to eternity, back to Alaska
You ask a silly fucking question like "Why?"
Why am I Mr. Dead? Why must we die?
Like the Bible is biblical, I am metabolical
Sometimes metaphysical, call it methodological
Absurdness won't be tolerated in this business
Your curse is to suffer like the body in the hearse
Tormented, suffering soul which is you
You test the style of Dead? Now I'ma show you how I do
The E is for enemy, meaning not a friend of me
Put you at the top of the charts 'cause you fit in
You see, you stupid, coming raw, coming wack
The essence of my presence must have leaked out
And you smoked it like crack
Get back, white niggas get whacked
Change your damn name or get out of the game
Then kinda relax like a sedative, 'cause I got a lot to give
Improper English needs a subject and a predicate
Styles are plentiful like life in God's kingdom
Listen here, the battle axe is quiet as I swing this
Line of metabolics, straight up, no frolics
Return to the gutter, reoccurring alcoholic
You never disrespect and expect no retribution
Contusions, disarray, illusions of confusion, stupid
Now let me tell you who I am
Now let me tell you who I am
Now let me tell you who I am
Now let me tell you who I am
The E is the synopsis I try to avoid
Like going to the gym not dealing with the steroid
Void where prohibited except in my area
Deep in the matter of my mind, shit is scarier
Than a fool with no skills or a fool with no game
Trying to get fame when that nigga got no claim
It's a shame
How you gon' try to come up in here like that
You know what I'm saying
It's a shame
How you gon' try to come up in the game like that
And try to run shit
How I must hurt you
Must be stupid
Yo, the final D is for distractions
Doing shows, making dough, living well, satisfaction
No time to be lax, sometimes niggas slack
Gotta put them in their place like they your bitch and you their mac
React, smoothing out shit like a furrier
Go up against me, motherfucker, best believe I'll bury ya
Send a messenger or a courier
Put a rush on that shit, get it there in a hurry
So disrespect the Dead and I will put you fucking down
Some bread and some wine, come listen to the ground
A sound profound, listen to the sound
Now you know my steez, that's how I gets down
So now what you do is think and have no dread
Maintain your head, yours truly Mr. Dead
Yeah, yeah
Set Free, B-Most
Coast to coast
I'm lyrically making niggas like motherfucking French toast
So what you boast?
Yeah, yeah, like that
Yeah, yeah, Brooklyn East New York
Yeah, yeah, it's like that, word up
To my man Big Pat, what's up?
To my nigga B-Most, what up?
To my nigga Set Free, what up?
To my man Prince Paul the Professor, what up?
To my mens, the dons, what's up?
Rocking all night 'til dawn, what's up?
It's like that, yeah, yeah, living well
And if you wasn't mentioned, you can go to Hell
Yeah, yeah
Suck my dick and all that good shit
Yeah, yeah