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Q-Tip
For real though who really got sick flow
On the edge got the ledge hangin' out of the window
Bird chest niggas with ya winderous fearaf
Fuck around you'll be against me the size of a meal sack
Puny little punks better hit the gym
But that doesn't mean nothin to the heart within
You cramped up you and your team I'm amped up
And you asses can't dim my beam
My shine what the fuck is on your mind?
Little weaklink rappers better hit the grind
Other brothers ain't motivated they can't do it
Not only did I penetrate it I ran through it
My music comes on and we mosh at the dance
Inside of your mind or inside of my pants
Musical intentions that we have is vast
You sick? Drink a NyQuil when I'm bed on your ass
Oh well then here comes the gelatin
Tips on some sugars but you yap on your cell to friends
Now your party is completely blown
Real name is Kamal I'm in "complete me" zone
It's rap time for you that means nap time
Reachin for my joint? What the fuck, I'mma clap mine
Singin songs a sixpence with sit tensed
Surpised your ass is the end like the sixth sense
Heavy hitters knockin shit out the park
You didn't even really play tell me why did you start
Spittin' sharp blades laced with bleach
You wanna play around kid I'm not a walk at the beach
A stroll in the park or your fuckin playground
Put on your headphones and tell me how grenades sound
Put on your walkmase and go underneath the town
Q-Tip abstract how I gets down
All my bitches, dance if you know that you damn sure
Let your pussy drip on the dance floor if you wanna
Fuck that niggas will bust gats
Better lit a make for their rush that cuz they wanna
Flip this piano sick shit
Chill you can get off my dick and
While I'm on the hook get on your good foot
And blow up the spot for all of you niggas cuz that's how we
Comin with the brand new quickly we pan to
The young black man with intentions to ban you
Seems that people need an aid today
So many fade away, so many fiend to stay
I really rhyme cuz I feel I should say things
While the fraudulent acts rap just so they cop rings
Or maybe because when they was young
They was fronted on and left alone to have their own fun
Now they're all grown up to be assholes
I'm giving you the rope will you tie some lassos
You swing dangling from peach trees
While I sip my Daiquiris in the south west breeze
Writings so exciting the pen it keeps
Drippin out jings that's converted to hymns and them
People be hummin em from now to their next of kin
My family is starving? You know they want me to win
We forfeit nigga please get off it
Send the check in my name to my office
Mutombo in the lane yo I toss it
Abstract comin through witness the bomb shit
compositores: CLAYDES SMITH, RONALD BELL, CLEVELAND HORNE, GEORGE BROWN, GENE C REDD, GENE REDD, ROY HANDY, ROBERT BELL, DENNIS THOMAS, RICHARD WESTFIELD, ROBERT MICKENS
On the edge got the ledge hangin' out of the window
Bird chest niggas with ya winderous fearaf
Fuck around you'll be against me the size of a meal sack
Puny little punks better hit the gym
But that doesn't mean nothin to the heart within
You cramped up you and your team I'm amped up
And you asses can't dim my beam
My shine what the fuck is on your mind?
Little weaklink rappers better hit the grind
Other brothers ain't motivated they can't do it
Not only did I penetrate it I ran through it
My music comes on and we mosh at the dance
Inside of your mind or inside of my pants
Musical intentions that we have is vast
You sick? Drink a NyQuil when I'm bed on your ass
Oh well then here comes the gelatin
Tips on some sugars but you yap on your cell to friends
Now your party is completely blown
Real name is Kamal I'm in "complete me" zone
It's rap time for you that means nap time
Reachin for my joint? What the fuck, I'mma clap mine
Singin songs a sixpence with sit tensed
Surpised your ass is the end like the sixth sense
Heavy hitters knockin shit out the park
You didn't even really play tell me why did you start
Spittin' sharp blades laced with bleach
You wanna play around kid I'm not a walk at the beach
A stroll in the park or your fuckin playground
Put on your headphones and tell me how grenades sound
Put on your walkmase and go underneath the town
Q-Tip abstract how I gets down
All my bitches, dance if you know that you damn sure
Let your pussy drip on the dance floor if you wanna
Fuck that niggas will bust gats
Better lit a make for their rush that cuz they wanna
Flip this piano sick shit
Chill you can get off my dick and
While I'm on the hook get on your good foot
And blow up the spot for all of you niggas cuz that's how we
Comin with the brand new quickly we pan to
The young black man with intentions to ban you
Seems that people need an aid today
So many fade away, so many fiend to stay
I really rhyme cuz I feel I should say things
While the fraudulent acts rap just so they cop rings
Or maybe because when they was young
They was fronted on and left alone to have their own fun
Now they're all grown up to be assholes
I'm giving you the rope will you tie some lassos
You swing dangling from peach trees
While I sip my Daiquiris in the south west breeze
Writings so exciting the pen it keeps
Drippin out jings that's converted to hymns and them
People be hummin em from now to their next of kin
My family is starving? You know they want me to win
We forfeit nigga please get off it
Send the check in my name to my office
Mutombo in the lane yo I toss it
Abstract comin through witness the bomb shit
compositores: CLAYDES SMITH, RONALD BELL, CLEVELAND HORNE, GEORGE BROWN, GENE C REDD, GENE REDD, ROY HANDY, ROBERT BELL, DENNIS THOMAS, RICHARD WESTFIELD, ROBERT MICKENS
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