k**ah Priest - Stand Clear (Exclusive) lyrics

[Intro: Tru-Mac] Ayyo, Tru-Mac. I got the committee with me. Beware. It's a world premiere [Hook: Tru-Mac] (x4) Emcees out there, you better stand clear Yeah, yeah, it's a world premiere [Verse 1: Tru-Mac] Yo, when my flows be dropping sk**s, y'all be sounding like Fiends on the scene, copping krills and popping pills And I'm really getting aggravated ‘Cause y'all rap ain't going platinum but exaggerated In this game, I'm in it for cheddar and forever Bringing The Realness like Cormega. More better Than your average veteran. Serving my medicine My style is sicker than the snipers in Maryland It's not about them plaques you get and them stacks you flip One rap on tracks'll match your hit I'ma leave you angry. Watch my name be hot Tru-Mac's Unpredictable like Jamie Foxx All my rhymes switch up, kid. I'm guaranteed to get Your hands in the air this year like a stick-up kid Now give me the treatment that Tookie got ‘Cause I'm k**ing the beat, y'all, like a rookie cop [Verse 2: Sav k**z] It's like I'm terminal and raw, spit from the core Leave y'all all fiend out like y'all sniffing the pure Be significant to this game—my style endure I got lyrical sk**s, vocab, and more Make ‘em all say my name: Sav k**z for sure It's like they don't know until I kick down the door And I ain't clapping off no four-four—my mic let off To make y'all fraud, frightened n***as step off. Come fast On the draw, son. You know we got to dust one off We underground understudent, all holding the torch Y'all commercial n***as must die. I got no remorse I'm fat when I see y'all f*ggots come from The Source Made me want to spaz out and put a hole through your Porsche Put one through a cylinder and make him a corpse But I know somebody's gonna feel the same about me When I'm entering a club entrance, no ID [Verse 3: k**ah Priest] My paintings, you see it, you read it, you weeded Or sober. My sculpture of cultures when I'm holding the brush Is over. It's dipped in the blood of Christ, paint a thug life With ink. Enter rhyme forums when minds storm Floods of Noah. Buzzard and vultures in the street They pack heat inside of denim holsters. The ministers Spoke, so hold up. I'm having nightmares of Virgin Mary Crying Christ tears. Wake up with white hairs It's centuries from light years. Scrolls are souls Young and old, sons on parole, Israelite for light Hold a pistol tight. You n***as leaning, sniffing crystal white Burn out their nose hairs, lest hoes bear for the “Oh yeahs.” The early eighties when the world made me crazy To the nineties, I lost my mind, G. It's hard to find me I'll smoke bags of ooey for two G's I'll write on loose leaf. My slang is too deep, from Heavy Mental to my old friends I buried inside in the temples Beneath the wooden floors, I'll tell you tales Of the Brooklyn wars between Tilden and Marcus Garvey Projects. I'm Mobb to the d**h You nah'mean?