7L & Esoteric - Observe the Sound lyrics

[Intro Verse 1 -Apathy ] Yeah! Apathy, L da Headtoucha, J-Live, Esoteric... Yo Yo, I'm like Bruce Lee, swingin' nunchucks Nice with mic checks You young bucks receive tongue f**s and sliced necks Precise like a sniper with a heat scope You choke, like a teens first toke of weed smoke I leave you broke like a weak rope that's tied to a speedboat Waterskiing over in a peacoat And all my tight flows tend to offend you Gay pussies like dyke jokes for uptight white folks Those who bite flows soon as I write those Are cursed in the verse to stumble over the typos I strike foes with the right blows To make you flip like I'm shoving the mics between your bike spokes So if you imitate, mimic or simulate I'll make your life shorter than the songs on a snippet tape I spit it great to finish miniature fakes and diminish your pace Like roadblocks for prison breaks [Verse 2 - L the Headtoucha] Till my releases Something to leave a n***a speechless To each his own, homes, 'ricans all through the speakers When I rhyme, time freezes You better off to look and find jesus See crime teaches Spit divine thesis Good luck with the dime Got you up against the the rucker rhyme Mister rap a lot, twist the rhythm half a knot Cross the map I got, bigger math to plot Herbs have to rock, y'all ain't half as hot Still stuck on how this rapper got To the moon like f**ing astronauts Think your god now? Perhaps your not Ima smack your knot and take back your thought Dozens of herbs will observes this sound Unfamiliar to some from a land unfound We rep the ground til the last round Step past clowns with central ma** sounds (??) What you don't know? Ask around. Ski mask down Get around to ruin your name Headtoucha motherf**er Still true in the game [Verse 3 - Esoteric] Ya'll ain't worthy of war I'm grimy like the dirtiest floor Im murdering y'all, brigade herbs to the core I bring slaughter You cats flavourless like spring water King Arthur with the rhymes harder than Mings daughter, I'm Flash Gordon Fresh out the box of my black Jordans Raps scorching cats on the track Author slash mad swordsman You taking about graff, and how you keep reppin' sh** But you got a jeopardy's contestants penmanship MCs look up to me like Extra P looks up to Paul C Y'all see em, lethal and cerebral like palsy Phoney gangsters leave your lungs a break That ain't chrome that's silicone, your guns are fake And in this indie industry I'm what you call a model citizen I got the discipline and position and conditioning The terrorists and the police are both listening That's why the feds trying to wet my like I'm at a Christening [Verse 4 - J-Live] Ay yo, it's J that L-I, who the hell am I? Above average Joe with a likewise flow The underground give me love for my lyrical wit As the type of MC not to be not f**ed with I got my money on the means to expand my mind I got my mind on more than the money which means I ain't trying to make a living selling dreams to fiends I'm out to see the young world living past 18 When you fantasize millions instead of the long green (?) f** a Lear jet, I'm trying to push an F-18 Drop a smart bomb on folks that don't see what I mean Load the spot, barrel roll out and then flee from the scene I'm thinking long range, the only thing constant is change And yet still, my lyrics leave a permanent stain On the mind of all those who are insulting the name J-Live, 99, still true to the game. What?