Is this on? (x2)
No sh**!
I've been waiting for you to produce the black experience; a Super Series of fly-by-night catch phrasing
And for every hiccup that I might sight for me to be labeled wide-eyed and trite
As a forest nymph in stretch plating
'Exclamation point apostrophe slash' is what you get when your Modus operandi comes off like a comedy gag
Its like being spoon fed from a colostomy bag of an old androgyny hag
That got all of us hard-numb-palmed and deep fried
You know that!
(x2)
I know you, you know me
I'm from the project blowed family
With a pitch match nasty scratch give a song a home
If a known band is holding its own
Sorry, underground hip-hop happened ten years ago
Imagine having to say this at the Pan-African theater group bake sale
Its been painted over like a glazed crayon pedicure
And the mantra's been scrambled into this crazed non-sequitur
Sorry, underground hip-hop happened ten years ago
These words stay parenthesized between two reticent moon halves
So go tell them douche bags their white tees look like night gowns
While I loaf under the awning of my moral high ground
Yeah!
No sh**!
Y'all got salt water colonics
While my alma mater's polish was hallmark worthy
No sh**!
And though my small squad is modest
I'm a cross-journal lobbyist
Here to install thoughts with moral conflicts
Oh!
Still girls do not sing mucho gusto papi
Nor to I get kudos for being a pseudo-commie
Cause I let n***as down like Boutros Boutros-Ghali
Being overboard like a cruise boat volley
fools s** my glucose?
(x2)
I know you, you know me
I'm from the project blowed family
With a pitch match nasty scratch give a song a home
If a known band is holding its own