Ayo...
Fuck critical acclaim, Praise is best given by the father
Like the birds & the bees talk, Murderous street hawks
Kick verbs on the beat, Squak!
Flock to Ex's catalog, His raps are analog
& Frank like Anna's log
Damn it yo, Sometimes I can't take it
Shit is held sacred & dearly
Clearly like Beverly you fear me, & the Heavenly
Repercussions, Death connects like the grim reaper's my cousin
But this is a joyous occasion, A join us occasion
Voice your equation
If shit ain't addin' up right cats be actin' uptight
On the eve of my demo release, As if clips ain't pack enough hype
This is just overkill for the emcees that bust over real
In belief that the musk can rush over steel
& stoppin' the sparkin', Anyhow my pops is disheartened
Shot down by pompous marksmen, Known as my Aunt's man
Who said I went around sayin' I had no dad to flaunt then
I might have said sumthin' symmetrical to disrespectin' you
It's not like I'm checkin' you, Don't state you claim...I'm beggin' you
Single parent households only make a rapper better, Perhaps bitter
Besides you wasn't there to weather my mishaps nigga
The process was gonna make me effeminate or intricate
With a flow bigger than my tenement
My raps like a movie poster with a dude fallin' with an explosion behind me
Check out the loadin' beside him, Cocked back shotties, Clips inserted
Altho death isn't the most givinest purpose
Our whole charisma is just drippin' with circus
A scene that's type nice, Destined for rings & them bright lights.
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