I figure we start it out correctly..
|
this is Blueprint, RJD2 on the tracks
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this is a new tune Gotta get it right today, you know
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Whatever
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[Chorus x2]
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Printmatic, cinematic perfection
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the blueprint, for crews that lack direction
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automatic, just for my people
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automatic, just for my crew
|
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Infinitively ill
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while most MC's show nothing but cold symptoms and hopes of ripping
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I turn crews of hard rocks into pot holes to piss in
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and you be no different, because you don't listen
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too many wanna accept your crew of mediocre henchmen
|
who got you gassed up for an ill-advised solo mission
|
but you should watch who you listen to
|
they only did it cause they tryin to get rid of you
|
and be the man standing in the limelight instead of you
|
a little less dead weight, a little more revenue
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and you're about to play right into their hands
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cause you dumb enough to buy all the bullshit they're selling you
|
I guess one's born every minute
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and all the cats you roll with are living proof of that schedule
|
man listen, I'm willing to bet your DJ was born one minute ahead of you
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in the same hospital, maternity ward, crying in the crib, sittin right next to you
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you got beef? I got vegetables
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so if you really want it you can leave with a full stomach
|
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[Chorus X2]
|
|
In rumbles, I funnel words until I start feeling fully galvanized
|
inhale formaldahyde, exhale the battle rhymes
|
begin to bomb in a calm manner, jaws drop and shatter
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gall bladders burst, punks jump up and get their egos punched
|
by a far fatter verse
|
and you can celebrate afterwards
|
with a single release party in the back of my black hearse
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invite your groupies, maybe one of thems a nurse
|
with imported ice cubes from purgatory in her purse
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but I doubt it, and to my rivals
|
your chance of survival is slim to none unless you get a gun
|
or show your true colors and act like a bitch and run
|
praying that you're not another raisin in the sun
|
but I suppose foes of mine chose the latter
|
and scattered outta the way of powerful flows
|
I shatter em those with blows that land hard enough
|
to knock the snot outta your nose
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isn't it funny how funny style contestants get reverted back to adolescence
|
turn your microphones in and turn into crack peddlers
|
now your dope and no one expects you to rap better
|
you ain't a hard rock you write raps with feathers
|
in the school of hard knocks you majored in mascara
|
with a minor in black leather
|
a nightclub swinger trying to get your sister act together
|
but I'll close the curtain, it's certain that i'll close the curtain
|
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[Chorus X3]
|
|
-----------------
|
Printmatic
|
| Soul Position |
