Steam Freeverse
What is real Hip-Hop? If the lifeline got popped, who's the big menace Teflon Don on the block?
If the essence that we're stressing of the nectar of this blessing is gone, do you see the progression stop? What's the message, hops?
I needn't say we're tumbling; game fumbling. People say I'm dope and frankly it's humbling; mind-numbing and
When I step up to discuss these numbnuts who've done fucked the game up, they change up and the fuck's my name, huh?
I'm not a prophecy, but if these wanna-bes with lobotomies want to talk the beef, then fuck it, they'll see awful things
Who needs a boppin' beat? If you're on top of things - your lyrics are the crop and cream - don't talk it, G, go a-ca, please
These fuckers want to murk the beat? They're looking hurt and weak; sounding like dirt. I'll wreak havoc when I start to speak
But I'll only say that one time. Modesty's the pun, I'm keeping it done dime squared. Fuck a punchline
Pushing past the basics; a mogul in this matrix. How many times I gotta say this: hip-hop needs a face lift
I'm afraid we've come to terms with all these shitty worms. It's time we get a firm grip. Kill it and confirm it
This beat died before I started, here I am reincarning with a fistful of carnage - this is our bonding
Including you, listener. This genre used to glisten, her body's been administered to a falsified practitioner
I'm running with the gurney and we're turning down every alley. Reaper's yearning for that voice to be returning
But if we never make it, take this tape and play it. Know that we tried to save it. I'm dedicated to take these filthy chains and break 'em
With your gold bracelets and Gucci laces. Only thing that matters is the money so you could never hold places
Or break faces against real artists. We're starving so you can party hard with your cars and buy bars for your broads
It's unjustified, but fuck if I don't bust a rhyme to muster my distaste for the uncultured eye
And maybe I'm just critical, but if that's the case then just take my cynical lyrics and accept just what I didn't do
Kill Hip-Hop
If the essence that we're stressing of the nectar of this blessing is gone, do you see the progression stop? What's the message, hops?
I needn't say we're tumbling; game fumbling. People say I'm dope and frankly it's humbling; mind-numbing and
When I step up to discuss these numbnuts who've done fucked the game up, they change up and the fuck's my name, huh?
I'm not a prophecy, but if these wanna-bes with lobotomies want to talk the beef, then fuck it, they'll see awful things
Who needs a boppin' beat? If you're on top of things - your lyrics are the crop and cream - don't talk it, G, go a-ca, please
These fuckers want to murk the beat? They're looking hurt and weak; sounding like dirt. I'll wreak havoc when I start to speak
But I'll only say that one time. Modesty's the pun, I'm keeping it done dime squared. Fuck a punchline
Pushing past the basics; a mogul in this matrix. How many times I gotta say this: hip-hop needs a face lift
I'm afraid we've come to terms with all these shitty worms. It's time we get a firm grip. Kill it and confirm it
This beat died before I started, here I am reincarning with a fistful of carnage - this is our bonding
Including you, listener. This genre used to glisten, her body's been administered to a falsified practitioner
I'm running with the gurney and we're turning down every alley. Reaper's yearning for that voice to be returning
But if we never make it, take this tape and play it. Know that we tried to save it. I'm dedicated to take these filthy chains and break 'em
With your gold bracelets and Gucci laces. Only thing that matters is the money so you could never hold places
Or break faces against real artists. We're starving so you can party hard with your cars and buy bars for your broads
It's unjustified, but fuck if I don't bust a rhyme to muster my distaste for the uncultured eye
And maybe I'm just critical, but if that's the case then just take my cynical lyrics and accept just what I didn't do
Kill Hip-Hop