[Verse One]
Ayo, I rap for my scraps
Rhyme fo' my dimes
Spit fo' my grip
Write lines for shine
Flow fo' my doe
Words said for cred
My justice is to bust this, nuff said
You can find me, in the mid 90's
Home, my preferred B.P.M. off the dome
In Manhattan streets, my young feet roam
In years I released my most classic poems
My M.P.H. on the turnpike's slowin'
The average test score when the transcripts shown
The name's got fame but the game's unknown
I inspire many but I have no clones
I'm born the cipher known as the true school
At least that's the sound cats say they used to
I grew up from does to did to used to
So rather than fret I suggest you do too
The term's not needed it's already implied
Whatever comes out, that's what was inside
If life is a beach, my flow's on the wet side
So my own foot must get swept by the tide
Along with the critics that distort the facts
The Monday morning, armchair quarterbacks
I could pass, run through you or catch
Rhyme, program with scratch when I score I spike it
Why?
Cause I feel like it