Here comes the real rough rap
Shit is getting ill, cuz we the microphone wrath
[Mr. Cheeks] (Freaky Tah)
Now for years, I've been trying to show the skills (show ya skills, nigga!)
So I can do my thing with wifey and start knocking on some bills and then
My peoples in the headlight yo (blaow!) so innocent
Mr. Cheeks, yeah (a real nigga reprsenting now)
I lived out in Queens, man, for years (hah!)
I'm seeing ya brothers killing brothers, man, that means (more tears)
Every day I'm trying and I'm seeing my niggas dying
And I'm asking mom dukes (why you crying)
I got a little man, my little man is getting older
I wipe my wifeys eyes, every time she cries, as I hold her
It's tough coming up as a young black man
Understand, see the world is ran by the Klan
Just like Tom and Jerry with cheese
And they seem to lock us down when they bring in the keys
Well I guess that's the way that is (what?)
It's time for Mr. Cheeks and Lost Boyz to get biz
And get this Legal Drug Money
I seen this nigga went crazy on the train
At first I thought he was nice but at the same time I feel the pain
Cuz another niggas dead on the street over dope shit
Like nigga where you run shit?
It bothers me on the norm, I stand tall
With my back against the wall, and my hand on my four-four
(Mr. Cheeks: Aiyo, what about the world, Tah?)
The world seems to bug me
Don't know who wants to kill me
Don't know who wants to love me
Man, listen, I be keeping peace in my heart
But if shit hit the fan, I rip shit apart
I'm not with the beef and emotion, I'd rather smoke yall
And dump a fat bong around the ocean
I maintain keep my self up to par
Got no appetite for it, cuz every critic like a falling star
And on the real, kid, it ain't nothing funny
Freaky Tah, LB Fam, '94, Legal Drug Money
You say it's 94, I warm it up and give it to ya raw
You say you wanna battle well prepare for the war
I shuffle up and break them down cuz we catch 'em with the quickness
My name is Mr. Cheeks and if your cheeks is next to sickness
In the dictionary, I will bury any MC
With violence, my crew or even try to go against me
For real, I'd rather push an Ac' with some rims
And bounce around Queens with some baggy jeans and Timbs
And chill, puff on a Phil' at will
I got a baby boy to skill, it's so much to keep it real
Relax, I got a style smoother than a Saxon
I looked into the mirror, say it clear than the Jackson
Guy did, who shot the sheriff? Nigga, I did
Where you from, Mr. Cheeks? Southside, kid
Yo, on the real, man, it ain't nothing funny
'94, '95, '96, Legal Drug Money, chill
Give it up, come out ya fucking pockets
Put ya face to the ground, how do that sound?
Go pound for pound, letting off a shot
I'm walking down the block, then I say
Yo, stop, then turn back to the Buddha spot
You, know, how I flow
Freaky Tah got the pizzy ass ho.