Kawann Shockley - U Got Exposed lyrics

Uh, verbs, vent[?] verbs, vent[?] verbs, vent[?] Feel me Verse 1 (DN3 member 1): Verbs is a powerful word a move in a v Replaced with a nature and all I do is puff herb Writing my script in a language flowing out of my bank And others tryin' quarantine me but my style's so sick I'm a freak of nature coming on some sideshow sh** So hurry hurry step on up click tapped and bu*t[?] Act like I won the lottery and pa** out bucks Blaka blaka I know them shots stopped ya stopped ya Just figured your features, flip dough like making a pizza I roll with creatures handguns stashed in the speakers Hugging the block, crack rock tucked in his sneakers Where are my answers? N*gga ‘cause I ball all day Nonathletic, big cash, lines of credit I know you regret it, stitched up screaming for medics Sh*t in a bag forever the medallion you had Loaded and grabbed, hot shells come with a tag I'm raising a flag hell raiser blaming my dad He's blaming my moms, sh** man, I'm blaming the times Concrete jungle the corner be the watering holes And the walls covered with paint acknowledging souls Lost in the struggle but yo remain in the hustle Scars that bubble, sport them with our jailhouse muzzles Covered in tats, yo I'm just stating the facts Ducking from cops, sneak out and ducking from pops Stay on the grind and get sh*t my peeps don't got Verse 2 (DN3 member 2): You better get them oven mitts ‘cause we makin' it hot And we hot to d**h like we David Koresh He got uh three on his chest instead of a nest Spit rhymes everyday ‘cause the economy tight And Mr. Bush tellin' you that everything is alright, psych I say that hip-hop it went to hell And that it can't be saved and that's according to Mel Oh you cats is gangsta you steppin' be hurt You're not a person, you're just another white t-shirt Ya better, check your pampers son, I'm so bad with it Cats be like, ‘what the hell is the matter with it' And watch your french fries ‘cause you know I'm fast with it To smite[?] peace yo we takin' out the trash with it Precise and sharp like the feminine singer We break the knife off in the back subliminal finger Your finance intact, but the enemy's broke The Kennedy wrote America with synergy nope Rhyme writers like to take it to that physical sh** And catch a scale to your throat but we stripping the fish Now ease back but y'all some run of the mill What you forsaken the tracks he displaying And the salary he's making, from getting on that federal sh** And take your man take it to the next level with him Hey ya, s** it up and just come clean Come on dawg, your sh*t is faker than the club scene Verse 3 (O'hene): Y'all better hit the road like Dusty[?] It's O-H-E-N-E on the microphone, I'm never rusty Matter of fact, let me rap this I tell it to your face, ‘dawg, you need more practice' Yo you ain't got one spleen, matter of fact no spine None of y'all can rhyme like I rhyme I jump on the track just to prove I'm in my prime O-H-E-N-E of course, I'm subprime[?] Look at my freestyle, my beat's wild None of y'all can be like I be, child Look, y'all just mad at us ‘cause I'm intellectual like Pythagoras You get risen like Lazarus when you hear me You emcees is mad to d**h I'm like Mac and Beth, mad theater O-H-E-N-E of course like Theodore You cats is cute to me, you're not rhyming My lyrics come off beautifully, I'm in time and Plus I help Christ like Simon Got the mental to prove that in this game I be Common You think that your little lyrics matter, please I got Pentium type data and these mentals that I hold up Very simple, plus I'm known to teach up in temple Slash Kimmel[?] none of y'all can do what O-H-E-N-E or O'Hen do Please that's simple