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True School NYC Hip-Hop, a mixture of hardcore skills and revolutionary thought. Full of Third-Eye Openers.
"OJ's for people that are sleepin' in the streets/ and mothers that are weepin' in the streets..."
Song Info
Genre
Charts
#146,525 today
Peak #1,410
#91,274 in subgenre
Peak #737
Author
Omega Johnson (words/music)
Rights
2004
Uploaded
October 06, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.3 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Story behind the song
This song was actually written and recorded some time ago. It was eventually meant for the upcoming LP The Blackbird, but I decided that this would not be the case, unless it were remixed as a bonus track. Will that happen? Stay tuned.
Lyrics
I see you're takin' Sominex laxatives [What?}/
Your shit is tired and runnin' loose, it's time you were fired/
When I catch a buzz like John Belushi, I'm high wired about John Belushi/
and you're expired like John Belushi/
now you face the elusive/
steppin' to the mic all suicide-conducive/
I keep my flow all skin tight, while you play the role all dick tight/
swallowin' like Crystal Knight/
Grip tight to your chicks; I give the effect/
of swingin' steel sticks to your necks/
You need to check yourselves like identical twins/
OJ moves for wins and the endgame begins/
so watch it when I'm runnin' all over these fuckin' tracks/
Dok Who grips mics like you bitches fake jacks/
Get up in my path, footprints over your backs/
Mhorlocks attack every spin of the wax/
Make you move your shit and you can never relax/
while I rack platinum plaques in flapjack stacks/
You wanna be a menace like Senator Palpatine/
but your catalog stinks like Gulf War latrines/
and I'm sick of you rap-ass crack fiends/
tryin' to get up in my shit second-hand like nicotine/
Son, I'll make some ill call like ET/
have cats up in them streets like plainclothes DTs/
in Black cities, where it's uneccesarily illy/
and chicks can feel the tension swellin' all up in their tiddies/
like mother's milk, noe lemme provide the code/
makin' every cat suspect's larynx corrode//
This ain't a drill I gotta hit you in the spirit/
Recognize it as you hear it, understand it as your feel it/
If you love it, then learn it, if you want it, then earn it/
'cause when the bomb drops, you just might deserve it//
My community moves through the streets in rugged boots and kleats/
prepared to meet and greet/
and bitch, it's your seet, meanin' that ass when I blast/
rhymes that convey that your time is past/
Lyrics are bangin' like a high-powered rifle/
*bang* The crosshairs stifle/
All of your trifle/
Industry bitch-ass cats that can't see the new rap cycle/
Blackbird's my title, my style's ital, get the hints/
I'm all over the place like kids' fingerprints/
You fucks wanna battle but you're scared of the war/
that could begin with the elections in 2004/
I'm a brain with brute force like George "The Animal" Steele/
hated by frauds for spittin' what I feel/
I'm peepin' their grilles freshly chilled and forget about it/
'cause I got heart, the nerves are simply dead around it/
Don't look astounded, you mind was like when you found it/
Careful--I'm edgy when I'm feelin' crowded/
You're like a kid being grounded and seekin' redemption/
At minimum, divine intervention to survive for your pension/
I forget to mention? The Mandroid hits the body/
with the force of ten tsunamis/
Nunayufake Project, remember it, consider it/
The true Union blastin' Confederates//
This ain't a drill I gotta hit you in the spirit/
Recognize it as you hear it, understand it as your feel it/
If you love it, then learn it, if you want it, then earn it/
'cause when the bomb drops, you just might deserve it//
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