LYRIC
And foes to oppose, Cut Father
Didn't manage to erase me out the game.
Southeast 6 1 9 battle veteran
In a competition I victimize.
Word spray, ghetto word play,
Take shit back to the days of K Day.
Ready rock, Babylon to test non-stop,
World domination, fuck curb-servin blocks.
South Pacific, scientific cause panic,
Spit lines terrific, no surprise, see I planned it.
You homosexual rap cats can scratch that,
Don't play for gays, fake thugs, fake ways.
Thoughts I generate and never scared to stop spittin,
Don't hear nothin but the music I'm???.
L Brothers: ever-evolvin, ducks fallin,
Into rhyme re-lapse, these record tracks.
Mad Child blaze, spittin real on top,
In memory of Rob-1 'cause ya can't be stopped. [Chorus – scratching the following variations of a cut] [Cut Father] Just get down, and go for mine,
1 2, and run down the line.
Just get down, and run down the line.
Just get down… 1 2. [Madchild] Swingin the axe. Bringing the pain while I'm bringin the facts,
Keep climbin 'cause I'm workin while these others relax.
Rippin tracks from Cut Father don't bather half-steppin,
Mad Child and Buc Fifty: that's three deadly weapons.
Reppin the west, staplin the maple leafe to my chest,
That sixteen bars between bars and stripes.
Used to go to malls and fight, now I stay up all night,
Thinking. Mappin out my future 'cause my family's tight.
We keep it thorough. We get inside your head just like a neurosurgeon,
To some my origin is discouragin,
No fade in this Canadian hurricane keep flourishin.
Doubt this? Hows this: I put my money where my mouth is,
Joust from North to South. You don't know anything about this.
Partner startin a label, able to rock but unstable,
Terrifying talents of the mentally unbalanced,
King of skull-crushing confusion that welcomes any challenge. [Chorus:] [Buc Fifty] I can hand-cuff lightning, throw thunder in jail,
Hold tornadoes in the palm of both hands when thy bail.
Full fatal and??? Bomb, I am phenominal,
If I laid on train tracks I'd make that shit de-rail.
Hold still, I'm so I'll I make medicine sick,
Kill a??? My head split wild plan with this.
Style until I feel well and done with it.
You a broke wrist rapper with a fruit-flavoured packer.
Jimmy on the breath sugar footed crew that backed ya.
Gimme a reason to step, I'm drinkin booze and jack jackers,
Back mackers, out-act actors, stack up stature,
Textual factors, while I keep the wack wacker. [Chorus:]
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