Potholderz

I strive to be humble lest I stumble

Never sold a jumbo or copped chicken with it's mumbo sauce

Tyson is a Fowl holocaust

Fill and gas your whole head up with poetry I'm fed up

Ignore cordon bluh

Stand up get up

Lunge for your knife

Don't forget your potholders

What

These old things

About to throw them away

With the gold rings that make 'em don't fit like O.J

Usually I take them off with oil of ole

MC's is crabs in a barrel pass the old bay

Hot as hell and it's a cold day in it

Working on a way that we roll away tinted

Some say the price of holdin heat is often too high

You either be in a coffin or you be the new guy

The one that's too fly to eat shoe pie

Never too busy when it comes down to you and I

A lot of niggaz wish to die

Need to hold they horses

There's bigger fish to fry

Your on the list

If not hit the number spot

Ten and a half Timbs is made to kick your bumbaclot

Could have had a V-8

F-150 quad cab but I'll be straight

Money comes and goes like that two bit hussy that night that tried to rush me

Dwight pass da dutchie

So I can calm down so they don't get it twisted

Take it from the fire side it wont get blistered

Got it

What happened oh it's not lit

These metal fingers be holding hot shit

When I was four I pen god was born in new york

Back in seventy seven still got nan in the crescent

The effervescent of gods presence is thick

Unlike vapor

Escarole

Extra roll

Word to the baker

Peace to the hard working ginger bread makers

Looked her up and down said hmmmm too much make up

Poor music taste

Ten years from being grown up

Rappers don't blow up heads do

My name is Dwight Spits

I'ma sonic addict

I use to think it was merely a dangling habit

Born under a bad sign

I'm serious about this curse of mine

I strive to flip it in the fine wine

Barely born a virgin is what the stars said

Black not white red all over doe like elmo

Twenty eight years have passed I feel I'm peaking

I make music every weekend

It's a chore

A fact of life

A labor of love

I get mad love but I can test the labor

And it's wages

You know death

I serving life from this gift of god

Don't forget your potholders my niggaz