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MARS (Dream Team) (feat. AZ, Redman & Styles P)

Cormega

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[Verse 1: Cormega]
Though I walk through the Valley of Death
I never got lost or took cowardice steps
I move honorably, gained a lot of respect
Saw of poverty but wouldn’t trade God for success
In fact maybe I’m too advanced for crack babies
My impact is similar to Basquiat paintings
Visually fascinating, reality rap - not the fabricated
We’ll have you anxious to sell weight
Feds are patient like architects building cases
The foundation is information I give in my lyrics ain’t easily assimilated, my pen is crazy
I went from livin’ on the edge, to the realm of greatness
Was willed here to exist if this is continuation of skill revealed in music we originated
Then places full of napped hair melanated
Descendants of slaves who found ways to elevate it

[Verse 2: AZ]
Gray’s anatomy, amazed with duality
I inhale to propel through polarities
Rap reality, trapper, actor or athlete
Choose carefully, use vernacular accurately
None after me, number four’s factually
I’m the core conquistador of the faculty
Bastard seed black fatigues
Prestigious since Ellesses from the master’s league
Master’s weed, placed on a mantle with the Jack Daniels
Ruger strap with the wooden shellac handle
Tap the sample of proof, cop and bounce
Never announce financial, losers stop to count
Lost but found was both in the same breath
The souls remains fresh, every dose came correct
To gain respect, hoodie on for the goons
So fuck the fake cop that shot little Trayvon


[Verse 3: Redman]
I rep my city hard, I live for it
I’m like a shotgun blast when I’m recordin'
I bring down the house like Steve Martin
You can smell weed when your boy pre-boarding
Call me Delta, you can earn air miles
Tracks like dirty laundry, I air it out
Redman like a movie, I’m Paramount
That’s why they imitating me, like Weird Al
Boy, in the club I get budded
Gilla House general, nigga don’t butt in
Circle around the block, tell ‘em I’m coming
It’s no VIP, I’m in like Bruh Man
But I kick back and roll purp up, yes
And write an ill flow when the surf's up, yes
I stay grindin’ when the thirst’s up
Hip-hop my bitch, watch how I work her!


[Verse 4: Styles P]
Short nights make the days longer
And your problems start to weigh on ya
Gotta pray when they prey on ya
Feel kinda funny when the four pounds stays on ya
You think it’s much better to hustle for European luxury, American muscle
It’s bricks or bread in the duffel or two long guns
Beware of the leather to touch you
Thinkin’ is it better to crush you or just walk away
Looking at your neck, put the hawk away
The pain'll remain, the rain'll wash the chalk away
My problems way [?] walk away
Swimmin’ in the waters with the great white
On a highway but you don’t see my brake light
Seven days in a week, I’m on the 8th night
On the dark side but I ain’t bring a safe light




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