[Intro]
[Spectre]
The uncool rap a**a**in
The dude's back in action
Thinking bout life, tryna pursue something lasting
Who's bouta gas him
When he proves he's the master
When he starts to rap faster, in your view it's disaster
My words hit like steel blades
Don't feel great
Can't school me
Like field days, being real pays
[Clive Burrows]
Being real pays, till you get a little fame and some money
Now these b**hes acting funny
Now these n***as acting funny
f** you want from me, n***a?
Coming from the dungeon, n***a, aka where yer hoes dragged
Close doored and now the who*es trapped
f** rap
Just a distraction from gun capping these
Hoes, I'm pimp slapping, they jocking
Ticking tocking and stopping the watch frozen
The flow going
I'm showboating
Ill stop tho
And let specs fill it like on mixes of olden, now go
[Spectre]
With the best flow
Let the rest know
That this kids boutta be up next though
When I slide on the beat, like home plate
You probably drive with your feet, you're the stone age
I'm the future
You need a boost up
You can't be on my level, speak of the devil
Eating these beats, now they seeking to settle
All disputes, saw a fool, bought a stool
You might wanna sit down when I'm taunting you, it's hard to do
[Clive Burrows]
Heard that n***a specs?
Dare a n***a f**ing step
To the best, get wrecked, with finesse
From the blessed vocals
From dem frederick locals
More exactly the secret circle
Murking these circle jerkers, till they dripping purple
Putting worthless slags in hearses, perfect verses
Coming from the 7th, flight, from heaven
I'll arrive at 9 divide it by 11
Main objectives of my algorithms
Vocal prisms, smug and potent chillin
Smoking on some ronald roaches
Call it audio-toking, im blowing and k**in
[Spectre]
Thought he was joking, I was serious as Mona Lisa
Gonna teach ya, phone a preacher
Talking with God
My words over your head, you toss 'em aside
Call myself an author with pride
Assault and get robbed
Lyrically I'm a coffin that's wide
Throwing salt in your eyes, I'm adult in the size
Of my cerebral cortex, ain't seen the Source yet
My rhymes got 'em slipping, I believe the floors wet