Team Backpack - Chief Justice, Actual Proof, Locksmith lyrics

[Verse 1: Chief Justice] Holy swagger jacking, scallywaging cowards acting Like they running things they rapping like they really kings man Wishing you was bishop but you rooks and knights And that's a step up - you been a pawn all of your life You playing dress up, you wanna ball beat off with your wife And your ex box got yeah really thinking you nice Watch the wet spot homie don't slip on the ice It gets hot under all the makeup and the lights, for real The puppet show f** it slow and make it last Sing and dance, make em laugh, flash your petty cash Yeah you dial the numbers I call the shots Balls up, the balls**ing n***as call the cops See I ain't slept in about a year or two Got some things I'm here to do Let me make it clear to you this ain't no f**ing miracle man I make it happen fade to black and put the fear in you You're lame and whack and say that rap and do some interviews Haha, Chief Justice 'y'all [Verse 2: Enigma of Actual Proof] Supposedly they notice me Maybe it's the ghost of me emotion, no poetry Poetry I, keep the beat close to me "E" I keep an extra line on me, ya can't "F" with me fine Flow one of a kind nope Find no one to rhyme with em Post-poet I thrive on it show em divine homie So slow when I rhyme f** it the flow timeless Only dropping at signs I gotta catch em with they eyes open f** it I drop the math cats can't categorize me Facts riddled with riddles belittling simple-minded Tapping into my spiritual, here is a lyrical monster Past that point this pivotal figure I'm intertwined with Past rap individuals too thicker to look behind em Penning enters to rap, instrumentals to k** em with kindness Big business I'm bout that dig it picture me shining Peel back bills I'm stacking residuals in my prime prick Steal that deal and stacking my pimping ain't even trying to I'm sicker than sickle cell fixing to get that swine flu Hard up as your chick's crib I'm fixing to slide through I'm just trying to [Verse 3: Sundown of Actual Proof] Brian de Palma couldn't film it all The rhyme books would give em so much raw to cook That the shook ones would drop it out of fear Put Kubrick on it Turn and pivot I never brought myself face to face I make that eye contact back to that place I put my public image Persona traumas I was split like 36 oz's in the brick From the sh** they found in Lulu's apartment in the movie Don't slip it's called control sonny And take money, money Count it like I run the mint And make money, money Found that it was counterfeit Fiat currencies and you're not You better tuck that knot Knots on your cranium brick, ha! [Verse 3: Locksmith] I don't fit in the box and I don't need a teacher I don't worship other rappers just to get a feature I don't toss a poem to come across as known Or kick a whack freestyle and expect a pa** cause it's off the dome I don't speak for an arrogant cause Or do self-righteous sh** just to merit applause I don't make scenes to be seen or cherish the gall What you see as a sk**, I see as a character flaw I don't use a hype man or slight hand to buy fans I don't scream to get attention through an over-hyped brand I don't prostitute my talent for people that bystand Or try to hustle other rappers more desperate than I am Sell a verse, sell a hook Sell a dream, sell a scheme Sell a n***a false hope you control his self-esteem Let a n***a talk sh**, I don't panic at all I just throw a couple jabs, Gucci Mane at the mall So please tell me what is worse A whack n***a off the dome or freestyling off a phone reading his verse? Was given a pa** I ask you this first What happens after you rap and get a phone call mid-verse? Parasitic, acidic sync I been it I pen it, I penetrate with a pen at bay To descend and bait My inner state is in the state That in the straight, administrate and illustrate What n***as take with haste till it's in his face In the case where I'm in the space Where my end I'm chased My inner face is faced with the waste of n***as sending hate Intimidating to n***as claiming contention Apparently incoherent was air for my ascension It's pinching a nerve ain't it? I painted a pic cell The pic sells, the pig sells Of n***as that pinch cells, hell Tied dog to a tree conveying this Unleash him after a year and he'll stay in the same radius Maybe it's in the water Maybe it's just genetics Maybe they love attention and rapping is how you get it Embedded beneath the surface the purpose is unknown You think this a joke n***a? Get shot in your funny bone