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š Join the Affiliate Program Now Killah Priest
Stand Clear (Exclusive)
[Intro: Tru-Mac]
Ayyo, Tru-Mac. I got the committee with me. Beware. Itās a world premiere
[Hook: Tru-Mac] (x4)
Emcees out there, you better stand clear
Yeah, yeah, itās a world premiere
[Verse 1: Tru-Mac]
Yo, when my flows be dropping skills, yāall be sounding like
Fiends on the scene, copping krills and popping pills
And Iām really getting aggravated
āCause yāall rap aināt going platinum but exaggerated
In this game, Iām in it for cheddar and forever
Bringing The Realness like Cormega. More better
Than your average veteran. Serving my medicine
My style is sicker than the snipers in Maryland
Itās not about them plaques you get and them stacks you flip
One rap on tracksāll match your hit
Iāma leave you angry. Watch my name be hot
Tru-Macās Unpredictable like Jamie Foxx
All my rhymes switch up, kid. Iām guaranteed to get
Your hands in the air this year like a stick-up kid
Now give me the treatment that Tookie got
āCause Iām killing the beat, yāall, like a rookie cop
[Verse 2: Sav Killz]
Itās like Iām terminal and raw, spit from the core
Leave yāall all fiend out like yāall sniffing the pure
Be significant to this gameāmy style endure
I got lyrical skills, vocab, and more
Make āem all say my name: Sav Killz for sure
Itās like they donāt know until I kick down the door
And I aināt clapping off no four-fourāmy mic let off
To make yāall fraud, frightened n***as step off. Come fast
On the draw, son. You know we got to dust one off
We underground understudent, all holding the torch
Yāall commercial n***as must die. I got no remorse
Iām fat when I see yāall faggots come from The Source
Made me want to spaz out and put a hole through your Porsche
Put one through a cylinder and make him a corpse
But I know somebodyās gonna feel the same about me
When Iām entering a club entrance, no ID
[Verse 3: Killah Priest]
My paintings, you see it, you read it, you weeded
Or sober. My sculpture of cultures when Iām holding the brush
Is over. Itās dipped in the blood of Christ, paint a thug life
With ink. Enter rhyme forums when minds storm
Floods of Noah. Buzzard and vultures in the street
They pack heat inside of denim holsters. The ministers
Spoke, so hold up. Iām having nightmares of Virgin Mary
Crying Christ tears. Wake up with white hairs
Itās centuries from light years. Scrolls are souls
Young and old, sons on parole, Israelite for light
Hold a pistol tight. You n***as leaning, sniffing crystal white
Burn out their nose hairs, lest hoes bear for the
āOh yeahs.ā The early eighties when the world made me crazy
To the nineties, I lost my mind, G. Itās hard to find me
Iāll smoke bags of ooey for two Gās
Iāll write on loose leaf. My slang is too deep, from Heavy
Mental to my old friends I buried inside in the temples
Beneath the wooden floors, Iāll tell you tales
Of the Brooklyn wars between Tilden and Marcus Garvey
Projects. Iām Mobb to the death
You nahāmean?