The Finest

As the life cycle goes on ... goes on

And you learn to hold on (hold on)

To things like the mic ... the mic

And you learn to appreciate who is the nicest on said device

But who is [the finest]?

Time at shashuma, too much drama, blind behind the rumor

Time and time and time, my mind, I'm trying to find a tumor

Time at shashuma, no time for humor

As soon as one of ya' men's dead in Hempstead, you trying to find Pumas

Sooner the better, even knitted a sweater already

Keep your leather, we coming through the brutal weather

We ready to do whatever, yo' Doom you with it?

(You know it like a poet, my brother)

(Hey, Gunn you wit it?) Whatever... [the finest!]

I know about going paid to broke, to next day well-off

To bust a shell off, to dick-riders: "Get the hell off"

Made a call to a client, he must've had his cell off

A show-off, he has the same bite but fell off

I tell off the bat, from science to pure facts

Which niggas is wack 'til they last two tracks

Matter fact, y'all could wait for the rep to tell

The tall-tale, how he escape from out the depths of hell

When die, he gon' die like a soldier die:

Holding a swollen eye, drinking Olde Gold

Smoking a stog, watching po-po patrol the beach

Blowing my high, rolling by, when Gunn die

He gon' try to preach the streets then go to the sky

Yup! That hold water, like drizzle in a paper cup

This one etched in stone, the chisel with the paper up

I need a cut: a taper-up, edge-up

Niggas can't measure up, I'm here to get the treasure up

Stands up and hold 'em high, do or die

He got heat, no surprise, stop the beat, close your eyes

Got the weed, rolling lah

Not sweet, so no demise, all the guys drops seeds so multiply

Within the prophecies hold the lie

He bled my mother and my father, but can't bleed me

OD, ghetto misery, he bled my brother, my sister, but can't bleed me

A OG, ghetto misery, bled my mother, my father, but can't bleed ...

Me ... sci-fly, whole style stuck up

Used to talk to myself, I told him, "Shut the fuck up!"

Buckle up, cause it's about to be rough

He said, "Keep talking that shit, you 'bout to be snuffed"

Then we squashed it, I let em know: "Watch it --

We only met a time to join these rhymers in the mosh pit"

Gosh, it feels great just to increase the chance

For a pussy nigga face to hit the dance floor

I pull ya' top up, got clout, crack rock, what?

Now it's all good business, and so this bitch is locked up

On the dance floor: you got knocked out, your bitch got knocked up

Baby-face, and hey can you brand you, brand new machete

Damn, I just shook your hand and can't stand you already

Can't stand you, understand you deadly

But my hammer's like a band, my man, it's Brand New and Heavy

Yo' Doom, you ready?

(Yeah! Yo' Gunn, you with it?) Whatever.

Come on stay, I wrote this rhyme on my born-day

Remind me of the same style I flipped on "Hey!"

Yikes! Who can fuck with the likes

Of one such who scores touchdown and spikes mic's

Metal grill, with many styles, better still

Feel like number 26 on a roulette wheel

And deal, and run rings around rhymers

And run rings like number runners whose old-timers

Shorty in the all black, she think she all that

I called her, she said, "Don't call back!"

She called me, now what you call that?

Let's go back, I sold crack

Hold gats, smoke that, drink that, toke that

Fuck! Where that ho at? Where that dough at?

Suffering succotash! This hooker broke into his last buck of cash

He love her, motherfuck her ass

Metal feet dented your car fender

My agenda up in the basement party tipping the bartender

Is unbeknownst to you -- who could get body blown?

MF like Mike Fran Corleone

And got it sown, maricon, like to know what you staring at?

An invisible cat, who pull off a disappearing act

Raised by a pack a wild wolves, it's like Sweetback

Front? I'mma be back! (Like brothers in the street act)

(Surrounded by a bunch a bad bitches like Sweetback)

(Fuck with me I'll be back)

Like niggas in the streets act (streets act!)