[Verse 1]
I got the funky-feel like B-Real
I put "all in your head up" B-Real wit the pure raw skill
Franklins are my favorite bills
No hands, my favorite type of windmills
Only now and then do I drink champagne
Like I said in Big Up I strictly fucks wit Corvosier
You glamorous rappers are too sweet
Wit your recycled beats and your styles that put me to sleep
I'd rather listen to some Brant Green
Authentic, not like you, got real meaning
I'm like the low-ridas, I like the oldies
You know songs, like Agony and Ecstacy by Smokey
You's a phony, I heard your single
Corny, like a thirty-second jingle
Here comes the master of paragraphs on phonographs
Every letter, etched and sketched like an ancient tag
You know my heiroglyph, I got a higher gift
You's a passenger tryin' but never be a pilot
[Hook]
"Aiyyo enough's enough"
Word up, I don't front
I just keep it on the rise, and give you what you want
[Verse 2]
(What you need)
Here, don't fear peep this
Step inside my mentals, bare witness to a lyricist
Skilled technician, rhythmous technique
Advanced speak, I put mics in condition
The streets always like hard beats
That shit that make you move your neck when you're in car seats
My star fleet, Likwit family
You Sorry, like that game from Milton-Bradley
Bound by honor, rollin mad bags of skama
I've never been the one for the Jerry Springer drama
Not an actor, just the greatest multiple factor
This rap game's like a computer, and I'm a hacker
Linebacker, wit hits that hit like LT
Watch the blitz, you'll get a Joe Theisman injury
What's all the glitter gear, meanwhile I wear and tear
For fanfare, while you rock eye liner and mascare
I got the funky-feel like B-Real
I put "all in your head up" B-Real wit the pure raw skill
Franklins are my favorite bills
No hands, my favorite type of windmills
Only now and then do I drink champagne
Like I said in Big Up I strictly fucks wit Corvosier
You glamorous rappers are too sweet
Wit your recycled beats and your styles that put me to sleep
I'd rather listen to some Brant Green
Authentic, not like you, got real meaning
I'm like the low-ridas, I like the oldies
You know songs, like Agony and Ecstacy by Smokey
You's a phony, I heard your single
Corny, like a thirty-second jingle
Here comes the master of paragraphs on phonographs
Every letter, etched and sketched like an ancient tag
You know my heiroglyph, I got a higher gift
You's a passenger tryin' but never be a pilot
[Hook]
"Aiyyo enough's enough"
Word up, I don't front
I just keep it on the rise, and give you what you want
[Verse 2]
(What you need)
Here, don't fear peep this
Step inside my mentals, bare witness to a lyricist
Skilled technician, rhythmous technique
Advanced speak, I put mics in condition
The streets always like hard beats
That shit that make you move your neck when you're in car seats
My star fleet, Likwit family
You Sorry, like that game from Milton-Bradley
Bound by honor, rollin mad bags of skama
I've never been the one for the Jerry Springer drama
Not an actor, just the greatest multiple factor
This rap game's like a computer, and I'm a hacker
Linebacker, wit hits that hit like LT
Watch the blitz, you'll get a Joe Theisman injury
What's all the glitter gear, meanwhile I wear and tear
For fanfare, while you rock eye liner and mascare
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