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Here we go |
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Souls |
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We got a show in Chicago |
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4 hours in flight, it seem like 25 though |
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call in the promoter |
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where is the chaffeur |
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out here it's hella cold |
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and where we from it don't snow |
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the wind chill'll crack a windsheild |
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waited for dude to pull up |
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packed it in and spin wheels |
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now we can blaze |
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checked into the tel and |
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take a shower and things |
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we only got an hour and change |
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Dj lets to went and bought a seagrams |
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mixed it with 7 up i had to fucking |
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took a couple moments to smoke i get to cheefin |
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knew at 6 o clock in the lobby we all meeting |
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you eat man |
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i'm hungry as fuck |
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the airplane food what's up with peking duck or some chicken chow mein 'fore we getting out on stage |
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lets do a quick about face and get down with a plate |
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i gotta energize my body with some sustenance |
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cuz i never know |
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what the fuck i'm up against |
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promoter rushing us |
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but i take my time though |
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we get there when we get there |
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nigger you know how i go |
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alive on arrival baby |
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show me your Hiero thong |
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and they playing my song |
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the crowds maniacle |
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check 1-2 |
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turn up my monitor so |
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i can catch the vibes in here it gets phenomenal |
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honey in the front row climax that's when i feed money with the wire tap |
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ear piece behind the track |
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bored with the engineer |
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on the fringe of fear |
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as they both got |
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drenched with beer |
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to a vicious cheer |
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you could almost sense revenge was near |
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maintenance might need astringents here |
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bo! and the tension just startin to grow |
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i think the crowd thinks it's part of the show |
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i thought i left that part of the O with marvelous flow |
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like when niggers wouldn't back up |
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now we deep on stage like |
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callin me no |
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pardon me bro pardon me bro |
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pardon me man |
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excuse me |
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get the fuck out the way |
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wuddn't my fault know wha i'm sayin |
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i hear you |
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oh shit'sierra |
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pounds drippin all on the oh 6 |
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flex respects |
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ready to throw a fit |
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so meat head frat cat with that |
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abercrombie cap flipped back |
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damn near collapsed |
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my mind recaps seeing him backstage |
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with that bootlegged ninety three till vinyl |
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tryna get us to sign it |
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i could tell by his eyes |
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not laying in why |
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he was too high |
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headed for hard times |
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kept coming from the side |
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\"yo daddy this our time\" |
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you interrupt the set and sparks fly |
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even real fans throw their hands |
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yo plus get his legs |
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though i saw a touque fly |
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when old knucks hit his face |
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gotta couple swings in |
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fore i felt that stingin |
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burnin sensation(my eyes) |
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either pepper spray or mace shit |
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they tore down the place |
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while we stomped that boy |
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who the fuck said hip hop aint no contact sport |
