Grip Grand - Popular Demand lyrics

Yo, the beat hit ‘em in the gut, call it slapboxin' I spit broken gla**, you can call it trash talkin' My lyrics bang on the block like a rap auction Do the opposite of front on Grip—back off him I'm higher than the rocket that astronauts blast off in A perfect storm of rap, it doesn't happen that often Whether hurricane, rain, sleet, snow, I spaz on ‘em Hang a s**er on the wall, spray my f**in' tag on him What a drag, he's so bad that I can only bag on him Heavy flow, lemme drop a f**in' bowling bag on ‘em Any MC who step, yo, we prob'ly smash on him Get broke, left the show with a body cast on him Call the coroner, get yourself a body bag from him It'll save me the trouble These lames need to hustle It's a struggle in the underground, we may need a shovel When the flow's like a hammer They can't even touch you Got a heaven-sent style, so I may be above you Over your head, like I was floatin' eight feet above you Bringin' greatness to my state If you ain't see then f** you I'm an animal, an ape-man, the king of the jungle Rhymin' on beats, each and every rhyme I release Is so dangerous, rappers need to sign a release I'm on the streets in the form of a man With the mind of a beast I eat a rhymer, crack his spine in my teeth Long live the president But better yet would be if all of mine were deceased Money ain't talkin' like a mime at a speech I got a rhyme book that's bottomless, deep I told ‘em I was a freak See a psychiatrist same time every week And Rec-League came to play, it's game time every week Every hour, every minute, every second at least I'm on the clock steady deliverin' consecutive heat Time for some action I don't wait for the director to speak Respect to my team The microphones a wreckin' machine I tear the roof off while you Poppin' champagne on some Evelyn King Well that's a shame, you should let a young veteran sing You think you fly? I'ma de-feather your wings I'm not a puppet, I severed the strings They say I'm clever with words I say I'm better at dismemberin' herbs I'm out for the cheddar and each and every treasure that I ever deserved I'm not a customer, I'll never be served I'm like a hundred steps ahead of all the s**ers so forget ‘em, they scurred Go back to Kansas or wherever they were I told ‘em “Don't quit your day job” Not sayin' I work harder than God But, in the Bible, even God took a day off Cutbacks and layoffs They outside the key and couldn't even get a J off Assa**inate ‘em like 8-Off So raise off the turf like a plane when it takes off I ain't got a hockey mask, I'll still take your face-off Your rap needs a map, G, the whole sh** is way off No pay-off, you lost the qualifier, no play-offs Hey, boss, you tryna beat Grip? Well, your chances gettin' slim, b**h, like Kate Moss Fitness, and weight-loss I rip this in half and I dip it in steak sauce Eatin' up rappers like Pac-Man done ate dots I told ‘em bounce like a bank shot I'm real like house shoes and a tank top You fake like a stage-prop There ain't a style that I ain't got locked I'm goin' viral, I hope you got your inbox blocked ‘Cuz every file I attach Is like an arsonist is lightin' a match So many hits, they keep rewritin' my stats My sh** is dope, and you can smoke it in a pipe Like it's crack You can shoot it in your vein and say you like every track There's a computer in my brain that's from the future and it's writin' my rap So drop the motherf**in' mic, ‘cuz I'm back