Track07 - Instrumental

Mic check, one-two, one-two

I don't write rhymes, nigga, I write checks

Now lemme turn this to the judge and throw the book out

Then skew it on the barbie like a motherfuckin' cookout

This-

Chef mad flavors

Bitches suck the energy, it's like a lifesaver

Shave it-

My third eye's open, I feel absolutely free

Violence in touch with my own inner energy

I'ma get loose like a barbed-wire fence

It's the significant, never frivolous, mister

It's the-

Don't compute then I gots to reroute ya

I feel unblocked, vulnerable but brave

My soul displaced from a desperate space

I brace my arms for the blow, I know

The truth comes next from broken faces

Potentials erased Lacerated, evaded

But now we've embraced it, we've finally made it

Swear to God

Naw, I'm like they ghetto

My dog, my dog talking 'bout, uh

You ain't get another nut

You talking all this mad shit, soon as you see, you freeze up

Like, shit