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Oh shit yo, this block party is def |
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Yo they got honeys, they breakin, they deejayin |
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Yo, yo they even freestylin |
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Yo Akir, yo c'mon, yo get 'em! |
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[Akir:] |
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Well sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick |
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Jumpsuits and fly kicks, Kangols with dope knits |
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And of course, the freshest chick to complete, my outfit |
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Cops be buggin out, so we split after we spit our hottest shit |
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My rhyme of reason cause a conflict |
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Shorties catch attention with a blow-pop lick, and turn they bop with a twist |
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Flick and throw the stick, havin me stiff |
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I gotta get but scared to use it cause my parents still riff |
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Music tradition, took knowledge, it cause friction in my livin |
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Black, diction on a GT's throwin life too easy |
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Front on my bike, like a CB, quarter waters |
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And the folks doin 'ports what my first dude bought |
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Game is a sport, Dominican, handball courts |
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Hold a jiggy in my Jordan cause my day's too short |
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Steady, holdin our fort, Washington, New York |
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And all my visits is short, I still need the support |
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[Chorus: Akir] |
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Aiyyo hip-hop, yo it runs in my veins |
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Until the day my words no longer convey |
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To the day my CD no longer plays, the crowd'll still be amazed |
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Even then my name still gon' reign, yo |
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Aiyyo hip-hop, yo it runs in my veins |
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Until the day the music drives me insane |
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To the day they drop me into the grave, the crowd'll still be amazed |
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Even then my name still gon' reign... |
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[beat changes] |
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[two men whispering to each other and spray-painting for 21 seconds] |
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[Akir:] |
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Yo, yo, he take a swig of raw Remy, creative juice loose |
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Street smart, apple-shaped heart, Timberland boots |
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Greg beat boost, chronic induced |
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While my larynx short fuse, antagonize by a limited juice |
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Tippin the ladders, bottle full throttle, time's gettin monotonous |
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Through New York metropolis, runnin through chic populars |
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Tired of makin sense/cents while my dollars don't work |
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Broke but rock riches religiously, horses on shirts |
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Catchin feelings for this rap shit, every song hurts |
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Connectin pieces of the puzzle in the struggle I learnt |
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Everyone that I found, one either drowned or burnt |
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Addicted to chicks, friction, herbals and tables that turned |
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What is the sound of underground without, people around |
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What is New York without, Uptown holdin it down |
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I'm doin shows for no dough, reside beyond no do's |
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And those are the flows with no way to expose it though |
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[Chorus] |
|
[Interlude: Akir talking to a club bouncer] |
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Yeah, see it's bad from the startin (you can't cut up in here) |
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Yo, I'm on the guest list (what's your name?) |
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A.K.I.R. (you ain't on the list fam) |
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Fuck is you talkin 'bout yo? |
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(You ain't on the fuckin list, get to the back of the line man!) |
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Nigga it's my motherfuckin party! |
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(I'll knock you little niggaz the fuck out!) |
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[beat changes again] |
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[Akir:] |
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Father Time is passin me by, the illegitimate child |
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Masterpiece in music is torn, shout as a thug's wild |
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Playas threw a wet one in, fillin heavens in the Benz |
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And in my measurement, been on time to find the rest of it |
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Shit ain't the same, life's no longer a game |
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Uncle Penny-Bags rock through rags and platinum chains |
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The clique name I boast up, taggin up, on a poster |
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Owing these, smokin trees while we post up |
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A young buck feelin old as fuck |
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Steady laughin at the world, passin the buck, still we stuck |
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Sleep now, or forever die restless |
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I fence with a number 2 pencil and indent kids |
