"Yeah, here we go...just go with the flow" (repeats 4 times)
Yo, I'd like to check this microphone before I start right quick Microphone check 2,2,1,2,1,2
[Verse 1] Big up all the Monsta Island massive And beware before I triple dare you like the last kid Who ask me what we don't got that you got son For one, flow that's elementary my dear Wat-son Secondly, ever since I was little Not so much to riddle, least rhyme to the syllable Keep tracks that make a Arab thief clap With no hands, I chop these drums off Truly yours, G Rap Actual fact, relax In this land of lyrical loss, black I'm not the cool sleet stack The one who might stop and talk to you Poison to few, niggas who be bitin styles I'm like pork to Oooh...what you got to lose? Let mud fly When I got blues I chew whole crews that's bud dry So I ask why the style's from the cess Shit be fuckin with my eye as I pull it to the chest The super muthafuckin' villain grip the mic wit an iron hand Throwin emcees to the fire from out da fryin' pan It ain't no use in tryin, man Son, stop cryin Frontin' like you death-defyin' You need to stop lyin' Speak your piece only once you're spoken to first Now lemme hear your verse while I'm chokin' you With bubbly fine rhymes like a editor Throw them to my collection of skulls and spines like Predator Fuck around, the only niggas who could hear the same sound (who?) Was Jet Jaguar and James Brown (Yeah, yeah only them two niggas?) And I'm glad I took the time to write their names down to big 'em up (True, true)
[Verse 2] I'd like to say hi It's {?} fly the odd Merlin That's quick to whip up a script like Rod Sterling {?} bad bitch who used to whip the Sterling Who see God ?, never see God earlin' My man Grimm had his little monkey like Space Ghost Me myself I got flavors that out-taste most With numb gums, some rhymers is lake toast Back to you MF Doom, you late show host S to the U to the P E R-uh Who chronicle these times in a 3-D horror {?} co-star or in a realer drama Who break bread with stingy kin-men, indian borrower Lone gunmen who candidly flip fly floes Single-handedly with one eye closed In a fly pose, no shirt {?} May see me stack the quarter-mill cash pay That's in a smash way how he did it Muthafucka probably couldn't peep it past a minute
"Yeah, here we go...just go with the flow" (repeats 4 times)
Yo, I'd like to check this microphone before I start right quick Microphone check 2,2,1,2,1,2
[Verse 1] Big up all the Monsta Island massive And beware before I triple dare you like the last kid Who ask me what we don't got that you got son For one, flow that's elementary my dear Wat-son Secondly, ever since I was little Not so much to riddle, least rhyme to the syllable Keep tracks that make a Arab thief clap With no hands, I chop these drums off Truly yours, G Rap Actual fact, relax In this land of lyrical loss, black I'm not the cool sleet stack The one who might stop and talk to you Poison to few, niggas who be bitin styles I'm like pork to Oooh...what you got to lose? Let mud fly When I got blues I chew whole crews that's bud dry So I ask why the style's from the cess Shit be fuckin with my eye as I pull it to the chest The super muthafuckin' villain grip the mic wit an iron hand Throwin emcees to the fire from out da fryin' pan It ain't no use in tryin, man Son, stop cryin Frontin' like you death-defyin' You need to stop lyin' Speak your piece only once you're spoken to first Now lemme hear your verse while I'm chokin' you With bubbly fine rhymes like a editor Throw them to my collection of skulls and spines like Predator Fuck around, the only niggas who could hear the same sound (who?) Was Jet Jaguar and James Brown (Yeah, yeah only them two niggas?) And I'm glad I took the time to write their names down to big 'em up (True, true)
[Verse 2] I'd like to say hi It's {?} fly the odd Merlin That's quick to whip up a script like Rod Sterling {?} bad bitch who used to whip the Sterling Who see God ?, never see God earlin' My man Grimm had his little monkey like Space Ghost Me myself I got flavors that out-taste most With numb gums, some rhymers is lake toast Back to you MF Doom, you late show host S to the U to the P E R-uh Who chronicle these times in a 3-D horror {?} co-star or in a realer drama Who break bread with stingy kin-men, indian borrower Lone gunmen who candidly flip fly floes Single-handedly with one eye closed In a fly pose, no shirt {?} May see me stack the quarter-mill cash pay That's in a smash way how he did it Muthafucka probably couldn't peep it past a minute
