Lyrics
Straight Heat
Remember how it was to rock like no tomorrow.
To represent your block, Have other emcees put a sock in it.
Your in it to win it our leave right now.
Hit them with that wild style from way back.
Check the rhyme flow, showstopper, ill bomb dropper, and if they’re quick to spit, no bullshit, fit to flip like coin
Pass it to the left-hand side. Glide, I’ll move them like you got skates on, rolling till the last song.
Now hold-up wait a minute, brown sugar put you back on in it, move till the early morning, move something.
I’ll. Paint you a picture clearer then two way mirrors
Remember things aren’t always how they should be, Turn off the TV and put the mind in control.
You play me five card and your gonna fold. Copy the text and quote cause I ain’t said shit.
Listen and watch for the hook. I’ve been robbed by 50 Cent and that was all he took. Now if I had a dollar for every father that looked and was shook.
I’d have enough to hire a scholars to read me a Dr. Seuss books, like Green Eggs and Ham, Ten Apples up on Top.
Break it down so I don’t have to drop, Shut up and tell me if you can solve this riddle.
Who can you find from New York to Seattle, Canada to Brazil and back to the middle?
I was your worst nightmare, old white men see me and lose their hair.
Indigenous see me every where. Were creeping up like them thugs. No drugs or slugs, no mean mugs or shoulder shrugs.
My mind is on a roll, calling to all hater’s bring me your checks and I’ll tip you like a waiter but with some good advise. I’ll turn a cheek once but never twice.
Size them up for the confrontation. Never underestimating.
Pop and drop to the floor but we ain’t busting, keep the face to the floor if you ain’t trusting, playing your game never pulling on bluffs.
Peep game from the southwest. No guest appearances on this one only deep breathes. A cup a Joe to keep the flow tight, I got ya open, and ya see the light.
We about that good stuff, aacheeh, some beans and some blue mush, strawberry soda, frybread thought I told ya, can’t get enough.
Hip-hop Umentury at the Alley and they showing and proving.
Natives, white boys, Latinos and Rastas get on the mic like KRS the blast master. Shadowboxing the images on the wall.
This is last call to get that rhyme on. You’re like figment on my imagination. I’m pacing talking to an empty chair. See your eyes in the dark but ain’t nobody sitting there.
My mind playing tricks like Bushwick with a full clip and I’m the wrong brother to fuck with.
Buck fifty on the scale, what the hell, do or dare ain’t nothing fair.
We tip the scale in the left direction, cause the right ain’t always right.
Remember we in lax mode, I ain’t tripping.
Four wheeling and dealing. I’m trying to feed my seedling legit.
On the mic to flow like life in liquid form, The calm before the storm.
My thoughts like male rain hitting the windowpane, insane, migraine, against the grain, bring the rain, flooding the streets.
Lyrics and beats, potatoes and meat the raw nitty gritty. The real ain’t always pretty. Shots out to my rez dawgs Holla
and them urban skins living city life Holla.
Potnas state to state, Holla,
Balla blockas and hatas better get the fuck up and Holla.
Straight heat.
