NightWalker - Wax Paper Envelopes lyrics

Yeah, clown a** mothaf**as Couldn't walk a f**ing day over here [Verse 1:] Yo, ayo, ayo My home is where I'm getting head, that'd be New York But I'm comfortable down south, like Peter North I'm eating off these beats, I sell enough, my rent is free So I'll be banging on a triant <--(?) like a f**ing MPC I'm tired of work, I survive, but it hurts I'm live but I flirt with d**h until I arrive in the dirt Inside of my earth, my cannibalistic ways Over power, what society taught me, and in dismays <--(?) I'm lost and found, down to earth, went back from off the ground While you watch sports and down beers, ideas get tossed around Walking down the block with a fist full of 'f** You's' Mic check, one, two, pink shirt, plum shoes You f**ing f*ggots, I'll smack you back to the Golden Age You underworked, and overpaid, you sold your name You on the radio, but I got doper sh** How are you gonna claim that you sold records, when you're not the one who wrote the sh** Chorus: [samples: The ex headbanger bad like a f**er. How many emcees must get this. How many mothef**ing mics, I got the grip. There's more to life, that's why I deal what I feel.] [Yeah, voice myself with microphones, DJ's and spray paint. f**in' f*ggots.] [Verse 2:] Ayo, ayo I hope you take offense to this, cause this is herb sh** You won freestyle battle by spittin' written verses You disqualify, you couldn't win a free prize Singin' in the mirror, tryin' to squeeze into your Levi's Heat rise, my practice is doing shows You got a gig next month and you bookin' rehearsal studios My ruthless flows will flood your painted landscapes You made mad tapes but forgot to create a fanbase I used to tag off the staircase and dip Then eat an eighth of shrooms and make a face like "this tastes like sh**" And that'll make me sick, I been sick since 1982 In real life I done more dirt than you claim to I have absolutely no respect for none of you If I kissed your girl in front of you, what the f** are you gonna do? Peace to those who got respect for themselves And every emcee that can drop a dope record that sells Chorus: [samples: The ex headbanger bad like a f**er. How many emcees must get this. How many mothef**ing mics, I got the grit. There's more to life, that's why I deal what I feel.] [Voice myself with microphones, DJ's and spray paint.]