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!