You Wack

Lyrically sharp Flame throw Spherical darts Hitting your heart Where metaphors And similes start I rip em with art Tear em up Rip em apart Jay Tilla The beginning In the beginning is God No need to flex on the squad Why not just max and be calm The grind of a millionaire The world in a palm In secret societies To the east is a star To the north is the parallel The west is a card The south is a fro-zen Mystery and a wall The center's a tabernacle Finished on Pentecost No need to be be boss Tattooed with a cross Branded with a crescent moon Complete with a star Lit with a candlestick You see who you are Reject the reality And cling to the fraud As real as you are I'm bout as real as gets though The voodoo you hold to The truth that you let go You can't rap Hang up your holster Gunning for your clique While I'm tearing Down your poster You're supposed to Represent for the culture But you don't Biting on my style Little vulture Fake old rappers I've got to insult ya How else would they promote ya With no flow composure I write my own raps I do my own production Flow like lava After volcanic eruptions You wack Lyrically sharp Flame throw Spherical darts Hitting your heart Where metaphors And similes start I rip em with art Tear em up Rip em apart Jay Tilla The beginning In the middle is mob The word From the breath That became man Mic in hand Projecting peace In a b-boy stance Beats banging You should see ya'll pants Time to build Are we mice or men Roaches or ants I understand I could get murked Like you could get murked That I could get hurt Like you could get hurt But I disregard it You garbage Perfected all my lines Refined and spit polished Brain in the game No need to pay homage Just show some respect No game No refs No aim No steps No brain No breaths No checks We the definition Who's next You can't rap Hang up your holster Gunning for your clique While I'm tearing Down your poster You're supposed to Represent for the culture But you don't Biting on my style Little vulture Fake old rappers I've got to insult ya How else would they promote ya With no flow composure I write my own raps I do my own production Flow like lava After volcanic eruptions You wack Lyrically sharp Flame throw Spherical darts Hitting your heart Where metaphors And similes start I rip em with art Tear em up Rip em apart Jay Tilla The beginning In the end it's just squad Scene is set Moving like a Vietnam leatherneck Anybody step to the dude They catchin hell for that This is it I'm about to spit Give me documents I'm about to knock All these wack rappers Off the continent Fold your soul into a black whole And then swallow it Step on the stage like a graduate Getting a doctorate My freestyle I doctored it Biologically enhanced With common sense Making even the Most prominent Acknowledge it Either the hieroglyphic imprints Or the smell of my incense Got you feeling like your name On the marquee is a misprint You don't belong In the presence of greatness We shank kids Put chains around their ankles Then show 'em where the lake is You can't rap Hang up your holster Gunning for your clique While I'm tearing Down your poster You're supposed to Represent for the culture But you don't Biting on my style Little vulture Fake old rappers I've got to insult ya How else would they promote ya With no flow composure I write my own raps I do my own production Flow like lava After volcanic eruptions You wack