what a life we give Toward obsessions and curled toes And the death line that's running Through our friends as well as foes And the tree line looks over like
A mattress tongue in a seventies mouth Not a home, just some fucked-up home to spend time in, I know I'm gonna pass and how these history books burn
to the streets You know it's been too many years, I had to be discreet And as he stands there saying we're just two of a kind It hits me like a thunderbolt
lyrical bombs like Hiroshima in '73 I write rhymes like Shakespeare when he wrote Anne Frank's Diary Which is about the Civil War of 1812 in Germany I'm like
I start boss ballin' Give me some head, give me some cash, give me some ass Pass it to Daz, pass it to Snoop, or pass it to Nate Hoes eat dick like
check it out, uh, huh Prophecy, y'all yes yes, y'all (Yea) KRS, y'all, uh, huh, like this y'all (Yea) You know what's up comin' through like that (Haha
s the kind of brainstorm I get So when the wind starts blowing, sh-t, talking about goin' in? Goin' insane's more like it! Wizard of words when he he spits
it more than once. Fake thugs talk about guns, get they stutter on. The only kind of toast they pack is the kind you put butter on. I see through they image like
I knew 'em but I passed them On a couple of corners racking their brain And the 2 top bitches kind of slid off they game And at the time I was going through
survivor, Hillsider, 1400 block Magazine Street Narcotic bomb preparer heroin provider I'm vicious, mean mugged and mad doggin' niggaz Like the, like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas I like to, like
through the crust of the pale blue snow; When the pine-trees crack like little guns in the silence of the wood, And the icicles hang down like tusks under
real from both sides lick and go for broke? No ass joke, like buck or rakim, long arms like down syms Snatch up your hoe, fuck her or pass it, it don
, Latin, Asian, whatever We all go through pain When you can't think use your soul, baby Preliminary discussions is over with, the verdict is in I took the rap throne back I reigned like
and error Catchin block (? ) like a cold Soundin' like the next nigga on the microphone We ain't stole No lyrics control Ya still starin (? ) Prepare to spit
Holla that I look like seem like talk like them I blend in til I stand out and shout "Jesus!" Man I really wanna be like Him And it's funny, they love
White Michael spitting Mark Mirage spinning and Short Shane was drunk Rest of it was blurry and kind of slip my mind Now I'm feeling out of touch like
So if you follow the game, you might catch this Act like an activist; you know, active Nigga like me just has to spit acid Sucker like you just has to
extreme force Marinari's Trench detour to Ultima Thule Let me explain what my sonar saw This is the greatest rhyme of all time supposedly Through a term I'd like