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VERSE 1: PRESSURE |
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I've been earning my stripes, till I'm perfect when I'm working the mic, |
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And I've been serving the type of words that murder insights, |
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This aint an urge it's for life, what I recite furthers the fight, |
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A service for the circus that occurs in the night, |
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So put your money where your mouth is, we're doing it now, |
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Cause Golden Era's let loose on the prowl, loosen the noose of your doubts, |
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We're here to take back what used to be ours, |
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So make your last words count like grooms choosing their vows, |
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It's more than just timing, the sport of slaughter with rhyming, |
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Of course if I'm writing my name upon your corpse it's a signing, |
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There's hoards of them vibing, smiling at the thought of us dying, |
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The water that's rising aint the shore it's more of your crying, |
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Jealous cause we striving and inspired by truths, |
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They know nothing bout surviving with the times and the news, |
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And whole image is a lie and didn't like that my crews, |
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Got our own sneaker, feel free to walk a mile in my shoes, |
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Hip Hop's in hard times if it's said, that time is money, |
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Then I've been paying dues until I hit the red, |
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Is it dead, or is it just the picture which your fed? |
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Write rhymes with your heart and do your business with your head, |
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If you ever bought Pressure a beer, let it be clear, |
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It was a blessing but I'm stressing I'll be dead in a year, |
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Forgetting my fears for the blood, sweat and tears, |
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F a career, I'll be left with the respect of my peers |
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CHORUS |
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What we're doing here is crazy, |
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Super Official with the style, |
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What we're doing here is crazy, |
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If you aint up on this, then you aint up on shit, |
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Super Official with the style, |
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If you aint up on this, then you aint up on shit |
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VERSE 2: SUFFA |
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Girl for one night, we'll get drunk right, |
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And we'll get tongue tied, till we puke together, |
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Bitch, Big Lebowski, that rug tied the room together, |
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Howl at the moon together like Ozzy Osbourne on tour, |
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In Rio with Ronny James Dio on the encore, |
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They want a Funkoar, they wanna hold a mirror, |
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To ninety-four, they want a golden era, |
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They wanna golden shower so I'm a give 'em, |
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Sid Vicious, spit vicious, you can't cut me off like circumcision, |
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That's just how I'm living so adjust how you listen, |
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To the music, the new shit can't be touched now I'm driven, |
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Aint the same old, lame old take it in the a-hole, |
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Payola, payroll, dude shut your cakehole, |
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This is soul like watching some day old, |
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Paint on a train roll by as the rain fall, |
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And it's so beautiful it's painful, a sweet sickness, |
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Like picturing the rest of your life with a girl you've known, |
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For three minutes, and proposing in a day and a half, |
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What we're composing here's state of the art, |
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It weighs heavy on your brow like a crown of thorns, |
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And that's when we break it down man sound the horns, |
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Now reborn, work hard, eat lunch in the car, |
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But we play hard, Braveheart drunk in a bar, |
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We're here so take heart, we're making music that's honest, |
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The movements upon us like some rebels moving through in the forest, |
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Carrying a torch to burn Babylon, |
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For every musician a label ever put a saddle on |
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CHORUS |
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What we're doing here is crazy, |
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Super Official with the style, |
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What we're doing here is crazy, |
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If you aint up on this, then you aint up on shit, |
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Super Official with the style, |
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If you aint up on this, then you aint up on shit |
