It's an old deep rock classic, nigga
You thought you could stand
before your hands from your feet
we would stand on the street
With our hands on our feet
Twelve grams, twelve feet away,
Your voice get quiet like the
voice in an instrumental track
Sick from the litmus, son
Sit the city as my voice unfolds
With the soul of the whispers
On the block we rock loud like the pistols
Up in the crib I wear a jacket and a
you ask me artificial I blow holes in skin like
They call me jerk when the
That's worth the four billion,
It's not official till I snack
Still hit like the road when
still puzzled like the jigsaw
You renege, you get jigsawed
Architectural design, intellectual rhyme,
Moving on a diagonal line,
Scholars they want the books back,
the peace they turn to salt the moment they look back
The castle in position made weak
They fired all their shots and the
many posted on bad squares
The bass are minor pieces
those who make the saga continue
Before you check the credits,