Spit Gemz - Chines Super Ninjas lyrics

(Verse 1: Eff Yoo) Taking alcohol straight to the face since Strydex I still f**s with gold caps, triple beams and Pyrex Protein for muscle definition in my biceps Days when a quarter got you 5 minutes on Nynex And you could do math equations on the face of your Timex Aight bet We get it Eff, you a 90's head '85, five of us sleep on a tiny bed Tryna to get by, my uncle tryna get high Stealing from my moms check Left her holding 90 cents I wrote this whole verse in a dark room,with shiny pens Tryna develop thoughts, paint a picture for grimey heads ESP, I'll pull your card through meditation I'm a master of illusions and prestidigitation 3 card Molly, digit manipulation, all inside your mami She beggin for the dictation I park my giant spaceship, in her Rego Park basement My ego large, I repo hearts on daily basis With many faces, this sh** never changes Inscribed this rhyme on a pamphlet/Eff Yoo without the lamb skin /f**er (Verse 2: G.S. Advance) About a thousand times more so, eat every morsel They cry for more souls My quality spawns pure gold, might speak in Morse code Fly encryptions, time hidden inside of my inscriptions The wisest see, take everything plus a side of fixins' Vancini the Great, the most atrocious Climb walls, she hooked. Rock ninja shoes with the toes split On purpose, might let one barely live The old folks told legends of me to scare the kids Shallow for the breed, shadow in the breeze Shower with debris. Child get the brie 'Till fly estates, grape vines behind some iron gates Still trying to find how I escaped, son defied a trace Enjoy a plate of dinner, destroy and make it better My life should be illustrated by Frank Frazetta G.S. Advance, a mission from a different year Appear from no where, k** everyone quick, and disappear (Verse 3: Skanks the Rap Martyr) Yo Eff, Yo, my ninja Von told me a long time ago That n***as gon' tell on your bodie, just k** 'em with the flow I been a pro, the lyrical malesting is taking place You kids ain't safe, whatever i see i take, like Miz and Rafe But this ain't fake, this is real life Not just a rap song The reason why that nosy a** b**h ain't gon' live that long A snitch could get her crack on, ain't a person she won't rat on b**h mouth so big, you could put your head in it with a hat on I never begged for mercy or payed my attorney 'cause i never served time, i always made my time serve me See it all in your face how you be wantin' to hate Is it because you old too soon, or young too late? Oh, i get it You think i think my sh** must not stink? Well i hit the sink and wash my hands before i touch my dick You listening, boppin' with that sick look on your grill Like you smell some stank box Ma**engil couldn't k** n***a i'm ill (Verse 4: Spit Gemz) I stole a horse, rode it off a cliff, then i slept in it I'm on my sh**, if you can hear, you just stepped in it Hawk your son, toss your corpse, you ain't deadin' sh** That's that for the Gla** that won't shatter On my life-proof d**h machine The hue's (Hugh) like a beautiful red thing It's crucial what i do when i says things Bare (bear) with me, the air's with me when i speak They tend to cater to cadence, i rather just let it breathe My P's got a disease Options for a teen, boxed in amongst the fiends Ain't abundant and it seems Nobody sees We're boxing toxins in our genes From before we took our first gulp of oxygen, i mean I know i tend to drift though When i let the gift go My kid's growing, if i don't say nothing Who will Bro? I still kick flows for the love of it I love the sh**! Which means, i still do free shows for the public A verse'll cost you if it means something to you I'll do it for nothing if i see something in you.. Eff can say he's dropping an album with one verse on it And the rest is me, i'm getting right to work on it As long as the drums are hard and the instruments are haunted This Broken Home sh**, is way beyond these rap groups My Pops used to kick it with Dondi, you talking "rap roots" Clap who? You rap ratchets, that's ill talk But i'm the product of a roscoe like IllYork A son of a gun, i son 'em for fun I plan on counting bread 'till MZRE got blisters on his thumbs Until my seed has her own art school that she runs My last request: turn my ashes to vinyl and get it spun In the club that you're in, when you celebrate the win Until then, all i ask is that you elevate your pen Gemz