|
Yeah |
|
Turn it up |
|
That's right |
|
For my niggas |
|
Here we go |
|
[Verse 1] |
|
Some real niggas have gone away... never to return |
|
Stay forever on wax cuz the mics they burn |
|
Outta sight, outta mind, never does it mean outta might, outta rhyme |
|
So I return to make it hot for those who cannot |
|
Smile down on me niggas, while I rock the spot |
|
Is there heaven for a nice emcee |
|
Crushin all these suckers dear God don't be mad with me |
|
I don't mean to hurt nobody, I just wanna rock the party |
|
And give you a taste of what's left, before I see death |
|
Watch a nigga back, cuz I don't trust nobody |
|
Left hand hold the mic, and right bust the shottie |
|
Sendin angels to guide me through, in the white drop top |
|
When they ride me through |
|
When I hit the pearly gates, will they take my tax |
|
Will they let me rock the mic, will the beats be phat |
|
Will the rappers write they own rhymes up in that piece |
|
Will the fakes get locked by the cop police |
|
Or will I have to deal with A&R's who don't got no say |
|
I hope it don't be that way, tell me |
|
HOOK 2X: |
|
Who Knows Why |
|
The reasons we live and the reasons we die |
|
You can't figure this one, so why try |
|
God help my soul as I testify |
|
And I wont lie |
|
[Verse 2] |
|
Now as I'm lookin in the mirror I see myself |
|
Handsome with attitude, so momma gratitude |
|
I put the pressure on emcees |
|
I make it hard for ya, with total, disregard for ya |
|
This rap shit is raw not to be touched |
|
The ingredients if tampered with, could get you fucked up |
|
No one knows this secret I hold like Moses |
|
Given at birth, now what it's worth, it's more than a million six |
|
Let me spit it to you niggas, while my rhyme exists |
|
Listen, separate the real from the wishin |
|
If you bust at me and miss, you gon end up missin |
|
Cuz on these rap niggas styles I be shittin, pissin |
|
Leave you niggas lookin dumb like two niggas kissin |
|
I'm the true hardcore underground messiah |
|
I'm the kinda nigga street thugs can admire |
|
You never see me gettin robbed, jumped down and whipped out |
|
Or cryin 'bout a deal with no money, flipped out |
|
I get off my ass and make it happen |
|
I'll stick up the world if I aint rappin |
|
So why do I exist, tell me |
|
HOOK |
|
[Verse 3] |
|
May Allah shine down on any emcee |
|
That'll stand on stage and hold a mic with me |
|
May he give you all the flow of the ocean water |
|
And some nice hand skills to prevent slaughter |
|
My lyrics painful like bullets from a rusty tech |
|
Bumpy Knucks, nigga what, and you must respect |
|
All the true shit that I reflect |
|
Niggas know I exist only to wreck |
|
Won't let the verse loosen til you sign the check |
|
I won't be fussin at ya, but bustin at ya |
|
I treat all my rhymes like they devines |
|
Niggas spot me like a UFO |
|
I turn my mic on and resurrect the livest flow |
|
So if you askin me, why am I here |
|
To clarify hip hop loud and clear |
|
Real niggas, tell me |
|
HOOK |
