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Story behind the song
In the midst of all the craziness that 'the streets' claims to be known for, this was simply a response from sombody who is not from the same.
Lyrics
BEAST MODE! Escape out my cell. No blocking and destroy competition. I'm on a mission. Stepping to the front, glock cocked in position peeling, mixing tracks and extensions. Leaning to the ceiling on a different feeling. Call it herbal healing. Dreams of a billion. Big, BIG buildings. Ain't dropped and I still win. Facts, no fiction. Bet on Nick and skate all you want, bike better have a kickstand. Faking and flaunting, it exists like a real brand. I can give you swag and flavor if you feel bland. I ain't Bobby Blue, so you homos need a tin can. Jacking my style? I see you (ICU) with a bed pan, tubes in your arms, EKG with a dead scan. Live beats leading me to leave with a dead band. Spoil you rotten and then I leave you in a trash bag.
I am freedom of speech. I refuse to go quietly, so, silencing my native tongue, I deny fluently. Now, speak only when spoken to and try not to be mad at me for taking my turn spitting sweet lyrics from my cavities. Colgate (cold gate) I'm busting through while the latch is undone. No way I'm bluffing, dude, there is no catch in my puns. Back and forth dialect, no accent in my lingo and conversations *mob* my brain like bass from *sopranos*. Hasta luego! Vocal concerto. Language barrier buildup. Comprehendo. If you're incommunicado, I am difficult to follow. Flow like water, still you find me hard to swallow, but put me in a jar, though, a box and I'm perfect. Well, I ain't God. Them tight spaces make me nervous. May He strike me down if I ever call His word worthless and blessed be the name of the creator of my purpose.
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