"Of loving I am guilty...I'll serve my hard time within the city..."
It's never too late to waste a little time.
This is mastabeta.
Honest rap. Anybody in a pink jumpsuit need not apply, unless of course you are man enough to wear it without checking with your friends every ten minutes.
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"A fine collection of bad dubs. I'm just glad it exists."
-EPL
Lyrics
I survive in this world by never ever asking why...I praise the most high for giving me an air supply...I walk by churches and stop next door...
*what for?
...to confess to the clerk who works at the liquor store...
he's an Indian man, getting rich from the ghetto.
There's a few in every hood, from Bushwick to Flushing Meadows...
A six pack, pack of Newports to pack in my bubble...I just puffed an L and the aroma's far from subtle...Looks like the "musk oil" was only meant for Egyptians...I step out the door and I'm greeted by the system...Niggas roll by...with their windows rolled down...the city's like a house of pain, everybody jumps around...
Downtown to Gun Hill, philly guts litter streets...at times I leave the city just to find a bit of PEACE...Come to my party, party all night long...from New York to Paris...Los Angeles to Hong Kong...
The vibe's all wrong when I step through the clubs...got the same ol' song sung by the same ol' thugs...I stay high off my drugs and cool out to my demo...my hat turned back as the breeze blows mellow...I skate over ice, the rhyme makes a figure 8...and I crash like Tsunami when I shift these plates...Most cheesecake niggas hear my tape and start dissin'...Get the guns off your mind...and let your hearts listen...listen close to the message I deliver like the mail...while my click quenched your thirst with this Pink Champale...I'm too drunk to be fuckin' with you scribblers of violence...Liquored up and tough and tryin' to interupt my science...
I'll wear you out like rayon...snap up your box of crayons...try to stay on, I'm poking fun like a bayonet...and setin' goals I ain't accomplished yet...yo, we're all paying dues, now the goal's to rid debt...
I suppose your whole set now respects mastabeta
my mind clears the path and wipes the floor with all you players...
I supose your whole set now respects mastabeta
my mind clears the path and wipes the floor with all you players...
Of lovin' I am guilty...I'll serve my hard time within the city...I recall my first verse and my eyes start gettin' misty...my rhymes burst like Cinna...bring the noise like Illa...I've been hungry all my life now it's the time to eat my dinner...
They cut my phone service...hip hop, I still beckon to her to rise through the surface and teach the whole world a lesson...NO, not through aggression, war games, and false names...but an honest confession that be stainin' niggas brains...with the love that she got, but nobody wants to see...so we could branch out our minds like the Timberland tree...or at least plant seeds and try to raise up a garden...while the "ballas" in my court all appearin' for their pardon...they're denied cuz I've been workin' this since I applied...the lullabys in the smoke make me look sleepy eyed...but I'm awake, I watch snakes like a television program...entire rap sessions, complainin' like an old man...
I'm sunshine...all of this is stemming from this one mind...emcees - I "rockaway" on tracks...similar to "A lines"...It's playtime, but I'm about to work this pussy...I got pull in my city, so I never act pushy...with enough thought, we could change the world with our music...for better or for worse, all depending how we choose it...Niggas had it up to here with all of Rudys' cadets...a lot of us just wanna bust off our tooleys and jet...straight back to the block so we could patronize the weedspot...The nights interuption is 41 shots...my heart dealt with the loss, even though I didn't know him...I care for my city...and this is how I show them...
