verse 1
Everyone of my singles is hot
I got heart beneath brain like I think with my cock
Lately I've been thinking a lot
Look, I was raised on the block
But that don't mean i shouldn't think out the box
I'm extra butter, I don't do light spread
Nice than a loaf, the best thing since sliced bread
You can't hurt me with your light bread
And my jams congest your flow
Like traffic when the light's red
And how could I not blow, pause
These streets got a void that needs to be filled
Like potholes
And ramp shots, I'm atop those
I'm just a shell with a spirit
That Big L, even Pac knows
Biggie and Pun too
I overpaid the my dues and let the game keep the change
What you wan' do
And to kids taking shots, come on youngin
I ain't Pro's protege, you pushing the wrong button
hook
It's startin'a look like bread
The whole hood'a want you
Startin'a sound like bread
The whole hood'a want you
startin'a look like bread
The whole hood'a want you
Startin'a sound like bread
verse 2
Whether or not you get the forecast
I'm still gon' brainstorm
It's a drought out here but I make it rain on em
See I'm the future so your present is my past tense
And I'm more relaxed than my future 'cause my past tense
I've seen what you've never see
Embody what you'll never be
Potchefstroom's finest,
My city diamonds and treasures me
UNDERGROUND WON'T MAKE IT ON RADIO RIGHT
BUT I'M ON EVERY RADIO BREAKING THAT STEREOTYPE
Fresh out the getty it's back in the business
I play it cool in this rap game
Try stacking the chips and
Every celebrity rapper listening
Is either happy 'cause he cool with me
Or mad 'cause he isn't
And I'm winning this race, f*** Husein
I'm lapping rappers who wanna wipe this grin off my face
Man you rats can't faze me, just 'cause I'm a rookie
By the way, I don't freestyle
F*** You, pay me
hook
verse 3
Polygraph my lines, I'm what the truth is
I'm making smart moves my nigga
You stuck with stupid
The nicest then I write piff
Man I got enough ink food to give King Kong the itis
See dudes whack and it's easy to type cast them
Nolly wood rappers it seems the hype gassed them
Keep the cameras rolling, light action
Let them try save some face like Mike Jackson
You can't dance with the dude and only half step
On the same track as my train of thought
The you catch wreckage
For real, I'm ill and I'm tipping the scales
You don't see my vision,
You feeling my writtens like braille
I'm what you been waiting on son
Hum over your lips to try and stop your breathy from escaping your lungs
Like *gasp*, oh my gash,he didn't just say that
Try play it off like I didn't just save rap
hook
