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Hot out tha box for 2003 Wattson is a solo artist out of St LOuis with a different twist on battle raps and other forms of hiphop
Wattson comin at you with his own take on rapping. Witty, yet still accessible to all walks of life...
Song Info
Genre
Charts
#152,267 today
Peak #1,110
#95,096 in subgenre
Peak #631
Author
lyrics: Watt$on produced by: Outflow
Rights
Jon Rayfield
Uploaded
May 12, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.3 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
You can't succeed without putting your work in
There's snakes and vultures in the industry lurking
I gotta soar beyond em never catchin me perching
i'll find my true self or die searching
not a wise person
but I know...
I'm walking through the loop in June it's noon
Just up and flew the coop cuz my room is doomed
juices are dried up, I sucked my pride up
Gave serious thought to changing my style up
so my first step was at the door
I had to find out what I was rapping for
my pace picked up, my heart beat hyper
cuz down the block there showed signs of street cyphers
there was a Malik, Viper, this cat Tory
a nappy beatboxin cat goin by Allegory
these cats spit decent, they was reppin' they spots
complaining bout having them chickenheads in they pots
...I can't decide if y'all is hungry or dealing with drug issues
...but you lack substance and I don't wanna fucks witchoo!
so I flipped my hoodie and cold dodged em
it was easy, they were focusing on their own problems
I kept walking, sweating, riding the beat
searching for an air conditioned diner to eat at
with a seat back, serving mickey's in three packs
cloud of smoke so thick its difficult to see past
man, I'm feeling woozy, and it's awfully hot
I'll plan my course of action inside this coffee shop
and I was awed to spot...
....ahhh, the prodigy of prosody
lyrically sampling oddyseas I can't be clandestine or modest
in my phenomonological psychometry
did I ever tell you I used to perform for my mom at three
my babble is syllabically unravelling fathoms
of gathering soft palates extracted through savagery
I can be pedantic in my pageantry, product of dehydration and fantasy
dawg, you're imagining me
DAG I'M RELIEVED
I must've been overpowered by chai fumes
if I don't get outta this heat I'm gonna die soon
is my style doomed to looming in dark spots?
Does coming from hard knocks, mean you'll top charts
or those art snobs who impart jaw drops but no heart?
Spewing obscure metaphors to prove they're so smart
I think that maybe being straight from the get-go
saves you when you forget the lie explained to the echo
damn, I had it at the tip of my brain,
the lightbulb shorted out when it was hit with the rain
the clouds opened, and I was getting mad wet
a limo rolled up, a stylish cat I never had met,
hopped out and said he had a mission for Wattson
and I didn't have a pot to piss in so I hopped in...
The beat plays it's kind of tight, I asked "who made this?"
he said "my slave did, I keep chained in my mansion in the bassment
rockin them Pro Tools boards for no payments
how else you think I'm swingin the limo and fine raiments
haha, you can trust me, I'm divine sainted
a nine record contract.. good reason to sign ain't it??"
Nah, ya too tainted, I'd rather be piss soaked
than get fucked for a quick buck and walk away piss broke
The limo stopped quick
I got dropped out on Washington and 6th
I can't believe I got up in this shit
I should've brought a vest
went looking for a style and fell upon a broader quest
and alarming mess
I'm focusing... and I'm tryin to bond with stress
but I'm noticing... if I be myself and call upon my best
work, not claiming position of expert
though I am droppin these fictions making ya neck jerk...
hook
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