Текст песни You Wack - Jaeti

Lyrically sharp
Flame throw
Spherical darts
Hitting your heart
Where metaphors
And similes start
I rip em with art
Tear em up
Rip em apart
Jay Tilla
The beginning
In the beginning is God
No need to flex on the squad
Why not just max and be calm
The grind of a millionaire
The world in a palm
In secret societies
To the east is a star
To the north is the parallel
The west is a card
The south is a fro-zen
Mystery and a wall
The center's a tabernacle
Finished on Pentecost
No need to be be boss
Tattooed with a cross
Branded with a crescent moon
Complete with a star
Lit with a candlestick
You see who you are
Reject the reality
And cling to the fraud
As real as you are
I'm bout as real as gets though
The voodoo you hold to
The truth that you let go

You can't rap
Hang up your holster
Gunning for your clique
While I'm tearing
Down your poster
You're supposed to
Represent for the culture
But you don't
Biting on my style
Little vulture
Fake old rappers
I've got to insult ya
How else would they promote ya
With no flow composure
I write my own raps
I do my own production
Flow like lava
After volcanic eruptions
You wack

Lyrically sharp
Flame throw
Spherical darts
Hitting your heart
Where metaphors
And similes start
I rip em with art
Tear em up
Rip em apart
Jay Tilla
The beginning
In the middle is mob
The word
From the breath
That became man
Mic in hand
Projecting peace
In a b-boy stance
Beats banging
You should see ya'll pants
Time to build
Are we mice or men
Roaches or ants
I understand
I could get murked
Like you could get murked
That I could get hurt
Like you could get hurt
But I disregard it
You garbage
Perfected all my lines
Refined and spit polished
Brain in the game
No need to pay homage
Just show some respect
No game
No refs
No aim
No steps
No brain
No breaths
No checks
We the definition
Who's next

You can't rap
Hang up your holster
Gunning for your clique
While I'm tearing
Down your poster
You're supposed to
Represent for the culture
But you don't
Biting on my style
Little vulture
Fake old rappers
I've got to insult ya
How else would they promote ya
With no flow composure
I write my own raps
I do my own production
Flow like lava
After volcanic eruptions
You wack

Lyrically sharp
Flame throw
Spherical darts
Hitting your heart
Where metaphors
And similes start
I rip em with art
Tear em up
Rip em apart
Jay Tilla
The beginning
In the end it's just squad
Scene is set
Moving like a
Vietnam leatherneck
Anybody step to the dude
They catchin hell for that
This is it
I'm about to spit
Give me documents
I'm about to knock
All these wack rappers
Off the continent
Fold your soul into a black whole
And then swallow it
Step on the stage like a graduate
Getting a doctorate
My freestyle
I doctored it
Biologically enhanced
With common sense
Making even the
Most prominent
Acknowledge it
Either the hieroglyphic imprints
Or the smell of my incense
Got you feeling like your name
On the marquee is a misprint
You don't belong
In the presence of greatness
We shank kids
Put chains around their ankles
Then show 'em where the lake is

You can't rap
Hang up your holster
Gunning for your clique
While I'm tearing
Down your poster
You're supposed to
Represent for the culture
But you don't
Biting on my style
Little vulture
Fake old rappers
I've got to insult ya
How else would they promote ya
With no flow composure
I write my own raps
I do my own production
Flow like lava
After volcanic eruptions
You wack