[Verse 1: Tragedy Khadafi]
Closed captions when I’m rapping, it’s picture perfect/
I think different, Steve Jobs, my thoughts emergin’/
Anti-commercial version via my service/
The slugs that hit Muammar right in his turban/
Back to the federal currency, get from under me/
About to make these haters so mad, there’s so much more to me/
2-5, the brand monumental like WalMart/
I master the flow art since Marley gave me my first start/
Rap connoisseur, modernized version of Mozart/
Let the corks pop on that rose and hit the ceiling/
It’s wonderful existing on top, the realest feeling/
I get money, stack doe whether I rap slow/
So relaxed though, QB’s finest, that’s actual/
2-5 round table messiahs my alliances/
Thoughts more complex then stem cell sciences/
Align me with the most greatest, my name will be synonymous/

[Chorus: x2]
Lounged up, smokin’ on good (skeeeeooooo)
Whatup I’m back in the hood (skeeeeooooo)
You out there grindin’ every day? Getting paid, up, up n away? Me too…

[Verse 2: Supraliminal]
I got thoughts that make the pen explode… ready to let ‘em go/
This time around hoppin’ on it with a legend though/
Either friend or foe, still check the method yo/
Still do a lil’ Harlem shake up on the stepping stone/
What’s a clone to a trend setter?/
Ever since I heard it’s dark n’ hell is hot?
Had this mother fuckin’ vendetta/
They used to ask me “supra how u livin?”… “Aight, been better”/
Now I’m doing well and still searching for that perfect weather/
All in all though, You couldn’t bench press my weakest bars/
And if I know one thing: ain’t steppin’ in these sneakers god/
Stay around a few intelligent hoodlums/
Who can click POP, or drop the weapons and shoot the good one/
Born sinner looking for the angel investor/
Give me that venture capital, I ain’t ya typical rapper/
I’ll make it happen for ya, we handle the sitch like Attica/
Hostages from Bering Sea to Africa..
BUCK BUCK get at me bruh…
[Chorus: x2]
Lounged up, smokin’ on good (skeeeeooooo)
Whatup I’m back in the hood (skeeeeooooo)
You out there grindin’ every day? Getting paid, up, up n away? Me too…

[Verse 3: Supraliminal]
Tell me how I couldn’t stay hot, my pops is nice with the thermal physics/
In with the ministry, spit the sermon viciously/
Straight wacko, rap game Joe Flacco/
Act like the only cat in the league that’s elite throwin’ the lasso/
But on the arm strength, STAND BACK YO/
I throw here? Siberian generals gettin’ hit with the shrapnel/
Mean muggings up in Queensbridge to BX/
Dungeon living and dippin’ on the detecs, connects up in Quebec/
Catch a tiger by his toe on the redirect/
Always chiggity check when they demanding the respect/
A straight decade deep, veteran with the penmanship/
You late like Dave Letterman/ uhm… who I ain’t better than?/
Went from pushin’ dimmy sacks to a bit more, to nothing at all/
Taught myself to find a hustle, crawl back when I fall short/
Runnin’ like Barry Sanders through all sport/
And trust me now I see a bit on the ball court...

[Chorus: x2]
Lounged up, smokin’ on good (skeeeeooooo)
Whatup I’m back in the hood (skeeeeooooo)
You out there grindin’ every day? Getting paid, up, up n away? Me too…