|
I'm gettin the ahh, I'm gettin the ahh from the
|
weak shit that I hear no lyrical styles come near
|
to the one who boasts like Buck
|
On the mic truck, cuz I never gave a fuck
|
I hate the weak shit, man it be fuckin with my soul
|
I peeped how radio be trying to take control
|
Tellin me to get a little lighter on my lyrics
|
But if it ain't real on the mic I can't feel it
|
Straight from my bloodstream, I pump finesse
|
Nevertheless, hold it in your chest like stress
|
Rhythm and blues style is not in my environment
|
And when I "slowww dowwwn" it's time to take a hit
|
But until I fall off, call off your set
|
and if you never knew me, then you never knew wreck
|
Look inside of the mind and see
|
Cause you might be trapped with a nigga like me
|
I feel like I'm trapped in the motherfuckin cave
|
To the rhythm I'm a slave, lookin in my grave
|
Jugulur vein bustin out my neck, you see the rage
|
I move when I groove cuz I'm into, the stage
|
of the Buckshot, black, I'm bringin it back
|
to the roots, like Timberland boots, home on my rack
|
And I don't give a FUCK what you say
|
Commercial rap, get the gun clap, day after day
|
Niggaz don't play on the d low, kid you know my steelo
|
I roll on more niggaz than cee-lo
|
We might just bumrush your set
|
Me AND my niggaz on the real mic check
|
Like my nigga Smif gettin swift on the gift
|
Then I toss another lesson to my nigga Wessun
|
And my nigga Five from the tribe of Moon
|
Pass the Crooked I, bitch yo pass the boom
|
Whenever you're ready I'ma take you into the stage
|
Deep in the mind of a slave
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Slave
|
| Black Moon |
