Fried Yams (feat. Zubz Tha Last Letta)

Yeah. For the heads, you know? (laughs). Yeah. My flow tastes like... (laughs). What I was saying is my flow tastes like... (laughs). Let me just show you Murderous rhyme ethic, my method Is quite advanced and you can tell it when I flex it I mess with, rhymes that's designed effort Lessly, they press me but I weather Tsunami waves, New Orleans with no F.E.M.A I'm the product of both sides, I'm Go-Ji-Ta And I ain't her for the dance I'm here for my million-dollar plans, a Cole verse, A HOV feature A maultese, a pitbull, a whole zebra A corner for my boy Mulu and Big Diva I've been through so many beefs I'm a meat cleaver Either I'm the best or I'm the best and you don't see either And y'all don't like it when I sound preachy I said what I said, nobody can out-speech me I aim for the head, I nick an eyebrow briefly I came for the bread, I'm Mister Pipe Down, easy My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow weighs like 9 planets Solar system heavy, You'd need Devine Hands Just to grab a hold of it. Polar grip. I'm cold with it 44 below zero with it. Grown in the mould of it Inhale My flow vapes like Spice Lands True Magellan with the spelling, explore the writing Sentences all scented at the centre with the essence of incense Listen My flow breaks life's silence Laudable the second I'm audible. Standing O's, applause and all My flow breaks light like lenses Redirecting your focus to feed insatiable hunger for more than dopeness You long for unique perspectives And So... my flow tastes like fried yams Gogo... paka'd a plate with some iced gamer Wa bo... a side of vleis, nshima bam That's fine dining for them in devine rhyme form Senseless My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams Yo Look My flow tastes like fried yams And black boys get ten years for five grams Black boys who talk back, who might hang The revolution is the fruition of my plans Just a child held back in his youth When they finally let him free he headed straight to the booth And amidst all the lies he had a moment of truth They said the world wasn't ready. It was all an excuse I'm in the cut getting cut up Watching fans trying to play match-maker, shut up You frustrate a brother My people stay gutter So you might think twice about pressuring your bladder The life is my lover. And she couldn't find another While I redefine the culture she be peeking I'm her husband and she need that kind of comfort The kind that might kill me to give A baby trying to have a baby, I'ma build me a crib You know how My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams My flow tastes like fried yams