Hand-off
My voice carry like Tyrone Wheatley...
Straight out the box
Make it happen like a bowl of Wheaties
I’m in the spot
Same rapper on a dope CD...
You’ Jamie Fox- “Ray”
Actin’ like you don’t see me...
From here to Georgia (George across) Cross Zaire, to Foreman...
Thinking you a star
Get tossed by ninja swordsman...
Sharp steel vivid
Come wit it, like Bill Bitches
I kill vicious, with lyrics
Your mission, clinic aborted...
Hands in the air
Look like a Michigan Portrait
I’m First...Second...Third Place
Maybe you “Four-fit” (forfeit)
Five...Six...Seven...Ate (Eight), many Emcee’s
But Nine times outta Ten, I be aiming at Corporate...
Young, Black, and don’t give a Flying fuck
Tiger strut
On his path
Act like, you know the Math-
Minus-Plus...
Families “divided” up
We don’t “multiply”
Cuz we dying from the bullets flying- Duck-
From the Iron tucked...
Sirens come
Five-O’s wit guns
Deer (Dear) brothers Don’t try to run
They’ll scope you out with the rifle- Hunt
Chalk line’m up...
We pack enough Heat
To car-jack a fire truck
And make the Hoes wanna ride wit us...