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Just me...middle class kid from the suburbs doin' my thing, livin' in Richmond now.
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #1,489
Peak in subgenre #781
Author
The Truth
Rights
Fuck yeah!
Uploaded
March 12, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.3 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
Chorus:
Send you towards the light, the after life after I pass the mic/
Slash you twice then stash the knife cuz I master fights/
Please pass the mic, please...just please pass the mic...
X2
Look, pass the mic, ya lifes in danger Will/
cuz I Grace and thrill with a pen and quill/
I could spend a bill on havin' you killed/
But I'm too frivoulous, shit I'd spend a mil/
Pretend you're ill, like a kid skippin' class/
But you couldnt catch a draft if a war happened fast/
I'm more than actin' rash when I snatch a pen and paper/
Cuz I'm writin' notes for dough, yeah, I send for bakers/
Made Amends with my maker's mark my words kid/
When the world stops I'll be so drunk it'll still spin/
Pardon, I'm a artisan,Call me Sparticus/
Used to be a slave to the game of honest men/
Astonishment is what they're callin' it/
Truth's embetterment, apparently the know I'm heaven sent/
But thats irrelevent, however ya spellin' it/
T R U T H is elegant/
Toss it at me swiftly, you can't miss me/
Im quick with my hand, but quicker with my stiffy/
I got plans for the industry, when Im makin' my drops/
With my hand on this glock, cocked, the craddle will rock/
And the babies'll drop, well, my kids'll be fallin'/
Ya chick got dick lips, like giz was her callin'/
Dawg,my hits are appaling, my mics tried to be silenced/
But restraining orders couldn't subside the violnece/
I've dyed my eyelids, now all I see is red/
And all I see are dead people when I see my breath/
I believe I'm set, yes, my repreive is best/
I cant conceive how vets, left me unoticed, a speck/
Now I'm makin' a move, im gunna earn the respect/
I'm gunna burn my name in every nervous wreck/
I deserve this check, shit, my service has yet/
To be paid, Now ya'll will know my name
Let it drop, see if I catch it/
Cuz my flow is like a lost sock, you'll never able to match it/
You'll never be able blast me or surpass me/
So pass the mustard sir, I need to spread it on my cheese/
You spread better on your knees, givin' brain like a organ donor/
I was born sober, but I'll die drunk from Morgan and Soda/
Im all over the show, three sheets to the wind/
With three sheets of music when the beats kickin' in/
The beef's sickenin' its gettin' thicker when you're in sigh
Like strychnine constrictin' on ya wind pipe/
I win fights, I fight when the nights right/
Killin kids, fillin' holes like a lite brite/
Im a bright light, and you pale to my challenge/
Knockin' the world off its axis, tippin' the scales of balance/
I'm sippin' from a chalice, holdin' the holy grail/
Eternal life, Truth will prevail
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