Ab-Soul - BET Cypher 2012: The True School lyrics

[Verse 1: Jean Grae] 2012, stop saying "femcee" It's not a word, I'll hop the curb and hit you with my ten-speed Bike spokes everywhere Hi folks, I'm very rare Veteran who's getting better every year Sicker than Sloan Kettering, whole floors is lawless Benevolent applause cause everything I'm spittin' flawless Praying so much my Spanish friends call me Lourdes Quarter Loch Ness, 75% Chuck Norris Incredible dominating performance Every time, every line; flawless Gabby Douglas, Dominque Dawes spit Stickin' landings and the wit is just enormous Your a Dick Santorum fan, I can afford to pause it Come back on the fourth hit Have dudes screamin' "Have you ever really loved me, Jeanie?" Rat face, Stevie so at me, Jean Greasy I'm bad [Verse 2: Sarkodie] Some of you MC's need to check up your flow at the Korle Bu hospital Your punches are weak, your flows don't represent the streets That's your only disease, Hip Hop refugees Forget it, because when y'all deliver your flow Then y'all turn out to be a laughing stock The music business ain't by force If you release 2 to 4 singles and you still don't break through In the future when I am dead and gone Y'all name a parking lot after me I'm the rap supreme, I rap in different flavors Lame rappers go to sleep cause y'all degrading the hip hop scene So many MC's back in Africa making a perfect meal But I'm the missing ingredient, call me the Irish cream Give me a round of applause, cause I k**ed it Rapperholic soldier Obidi I tongue twist 24/7, I thought I told ya They dig my policy, dig my legacy, dig my energy Yes! Obidibiponbidi What else? [Verse 3: Ab-Soul] I'm decent but I'm despicable, spittin' the inexplicable Pickin' stems out the piccolo, tickle your brain ventricles They finally let the nerd with the swag in I was playin' the background like an adlib But now I'm greedy like a fat kid Old lady don't blow my high Cause my pants hang low and you can't see my eyes I get faded like Smokey but I'm crazy with the motif Eatin' rappers, I need mo' teeth, you think I'm obese Movin' with the movement, you don't need no lease So fly, I don't need no feet, how I run it? Keefin' up, when I'm coolin' with my young'ns You know I keep it 3hunna Can't take it lower, I used to loiter, these days I need a lawyer Call your employer, tell him Soulo on the market I love Indo but Do-Dawg love endorsements I was never into Porches or Polo Horses More like Nibiru's orbit, ascension in Pyramid coffins It's safe to say I'm thinkin' in a major way I reckon you take your exit and make your way out Its my time, not Morris Day's now The more the days go by, the more I'm reminded that I'm a Titan If there was ever, whats pressure to a diamond? I'm the Haile Sela**ie of rhyming Ab-Soul [Verse 4: Talib Kweli] You spit dummy, I get money like Clark Howard BET, lemme show you black star power It's funny they want me to spit When really they never play me though On the real, the alternative is what you hear on the radio Fashion designer rappers Wanna climb back inside of their Mama's vaginas When pa**ionate rhymers become reminders, son You stay sleepin' on me, you soft the Satin pajamas, son My hood is like the jungle with lions packin' the llama's From Vandavere's to Gowan*s, I'm so notorious Fightin' my way back to Brooklyn like we the warriors Right in your face, ain't no life line for you to call on You simple like a pimple, you sort of an oxymoron I'm graceful as Jordan with the fade-away Write a pa**age as painful as circumcision with a razor blade I stay open cause I'm better with words I'm Frank Ocean at a Chik-Fil-A, I'll never get served