Lyrics Prhyme 8s - Symmetry
Black
like
the
President's
top
lip
Minus
the
bogey
stains,
life's
still
full
of
boxed
chocolates
Only
yours
truly
could
rock
this
Frail
niggas
in
your
camp
say
sorry
after
they
pop
shit
The
Locksmith's
daughter,
paid
Symm
a
visit
She
said
"you
got
the
ki?"
I
got
the
business
Easily
I
slid
in...
all
fiends
tumble
Running
back
looking
sad
like
a
Tiki
Barber
fumble
Laughing
on
the
humble
how
a
thousand
niggas
are
rapping
in
Toronto
But
zero
niggas
be
rappin
bout
the
struggle
Ask
if
I'm
am
Trouble
In
the
eyes
of
Mr.
Harper
and
McGuinty?
Hell
yea
son,
still
I'm
minty...
chillin
While
niggas
fuck
around
and
catch
feelings
I
was
ciphering
With
my
mans
in
the
back
of
the
buildings
He
said
"Yo
sun,
I'm
seeing
carbon
copies
of
Symm...
every
fuckin
where
I
turn,
it's
a
sin!"
G's
up
whether
G-Way
or
Vern
How
hard
I'm
reppin
for
Scartown
Rollin
the
Century
Rollin
the
Century
at
Kennedy
Station
My
flow's
lava
Still
mawga
You
still
harboing
ill
thoughts?
Pill
poppers
pop
Real
drama's
hot
Sure
shooter,
no
loser,
Victorious
Glorious
Symm,
Super
Duper
Rapper,
truth
pouring
it
Explore
my
shit
you'll
discover
Nothing
but
the
butter
Searching
for
that
stereotype?
Nobody
here
but
Brothas
Knuckle
dragging,
chuck-wagon
driving
artists
give
me
chuckles
Like...
You
spent
your
mixtape
money
on
belt
buckles?
What
the
fuck?
Cut
the
fluff
from
your
16s
Wipe
the
cover-up
son,
spit
like
it's
in
your
genes
But
your
jeans
are
made
of
lycra,
you're
the
type
that
might
bite
to
Get
a
little
taste
of
my
paste,
I
can't
fight
ya
Recite
my
Koran
from
Mankind
to
the
Heifer
The
messages
I'm
sending,
lesser
brethren
get
stepping
straight
the
fuck
out
the
Cipher
I
metamorph
and
then
I
strike
ya
You
cats
watching
Chris
Bosh
again
while
I'm
the
Washington
Sniper
G's
up
whether
G-Way
or
Vern
How
hard
I'm
reppin
for
Scartown
Rollin
the
Century
Rollin
the
Century
at
Kennedy
Station
In
your
face...
like
a
can
of
mace
baby!
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