Текст песни L.D. Stroy - Ces Cru

C-E-S
(OH!) CES (YEAH!)
Yes, Godemis
Yo
First I take into consideration
The composition
Line over line is a visual contradiction
But third's my suspicion is how I let all jail
Or perhaps it would be better if the composition fail
I, lose the vision, just as quick as i had it
But i've chosen the color scheme of Blue Monochromatic
Perfect
They got the concept that i can work with
Let's keep it simple, and predict result, Could be worth it
Like the color God covers the Earth wit'
Well shit Reverse it, it's inverted murdernaught and cursin'
Sometimes Italic, but never so automatic
If ever i battle against it, then i've had it
So that's it, 16 on the page
The beast pops the E, then he leans on Rage
While the party's poppin' off with a hook
He's in the corner scribblin' off in his book
Now gimme something
He's back and ready to hit ya
Now check the corners
Y'ALL KNOW THE NAME!
CES, ON A MISSION
Out to take your doll
If you wit then feel me
Drop a beat, break it down, like a chop shop
All hell for honorable, a microphone phenominal
My vocal cords are swords that slice you, sweatin' through a tank top
Coast to coast, slangin' audio, DOPE
Forever in the lab with a pen and pad
Usually suspected
Rapper lyin' to me
And imma smack you in the mouth
So that you can redirect it
Universally Respected
You're listenin' to bullshit
You should be selected
My lunar see the essence
I'm Musically connected
My Cru should be projected
Worldwide, 'Round the web
Like nudity and sex is
Get beat in the face
Yeah, you and me excendrin
We'll meet in the place where you see the X's
You heard about your big spit
Coming out of kicks
With a house built so thick
They running out of Bricks
Shit, city is slummed out
She rough around the stick
Shit, We Finna, dumb out
Don't fuck around with this
'Less you double strapped wit' willy
Coming out your kicks
Son, Gun smack you silly
We thuggin' out to this
Oh, it's all raps, but really
Fuck me on the dough
We in all black wit' Milli's
Ballcaps and Billies
WASSUP

Was hopin' for the turntables and Steve Burns
Y'ALL KNOW THE NAME!
CES, ON A MISSION
Out to take your doll
If you wit then feel me
Drop dope rhymes and bustin ill instrumentals
Paid on freestyles, apocalyptic with my pen
Proven skills, although, without no record contract
My vocal cords are swords that slice you, sweatin' through a tank top
Drop a beat, break it down, like a chop shop