What you hearing is a taste of my pen on display
Another ill banger that every record manager'll play
Got them ready to say 'the kid is nice, it ain't a question'
Ready the next to blow in this here rap profession
This year we're here to snatch crowns from all you wack clowns
Make rappers back down, hear the click clack blow
And I ain't talking about pulling burners out
I'd rather go bar for bar cause I prefer the verbal murder route
Heard 'em shout how they want the realness and it shows
Cause when we on stage the people filling by the rows
Just to hear this nigga spray and deliver flows
Uplifting poems written in instrumentals with pretty tones
NY city zone, used to reside in the place they called Biggies home
Where the filthy sinners roam, now I'm in a different zone
Writing on the daily trying to be the next king to occupy an empty throne
Rappers heard the name a lot, so the envy's has grown
Now they wanna see me go and be buried from the empty chrome
Cause I got a more feel like leaving their pens alone
I'm only here to pose legitimate treats
To these newcomers as well as the industry vets
What you hear is nothing less than penmanship at its best
Leaving critics very impressed once my pen is finessed
Something golden era-es but still future's ahead
Verbal marksman leaving pages wounded with lead
And still murk cats who'd rather pack rugers instead
Used to chase women now I'm out pursuing this bread
Making sure the fam is good and the crew could get fed
Shining right while we (?) suited in dreads
Walking the streets looking like (?)
This is a rap epidemic that's soon to be spread
Resistent to all clinical solutions and meds
You heard Rashad is the truth, that's what the rumors were ledged
But the proof was seen in the masses moving their heads
On every corner of every town where my music extends
Gotta tour cities and collect numerous ends
With coupe sale from CD's you bootleg for your friends
Doing overtime with the rhymes abusing these pens
Making music for lost souls consumed in their sins
Like a urban prophet clowed in kofis and Timbs
I drop jews that are praised higher than rubies and gyms
Block futal attempts from emcees who want me out the game
Ask the people who's nice and hear the crowd shout my name
Built a bigger rep from always reciting countless flames
And increasing body counts of rappers from the amounts I've slained
You sould records, but what good is your house and chain
When your legacy is an artist that's shrowered in shame?
I got the urge to devour you lames
In the same mouth where my lyrical powers were made
Hip hop is the life blood that moves around in my veins
It didn't happen over night, I spent hours and days
Tried to craft the perfect sound so the album is praised
What's the result? Who knows, maybe counting some change
Or updating the wardrobe with some outfits and frames
The view of the blue sky is trough as I lounge in the rage
Keep corwards afraid from these poetical works
Pencil a to make governments issue terror alerts
Since I hit the rap scene it's like the gym was a nerve
Distant from birth the rhymes to the death
With nothing but a beat tape plus a mic being left in my hearse