Archive for the ‘Quick 16’ Category

Track Thirteen, Verse Two, The Minstrel Show

August 8, 2008


Uhh, (whoo)
Ain’t no need in gettin’ teary eyed
Tay’s the illest, point blank period
Plus I got niggas, in DC
That’ll hit you for 3G’s and a box of Yum’s carry out
Outlook lookin’ scary now
They was frontin’ before but now they seein’ that we serious
This ain’t a peace talk, so muhfucka save your sweet (suite) talk
For reservations at the Marriott
They say birds of a feather often flock together
But me and Big Pooh rock together
And if not forever
I’mma reach to the sky, and keep flyin’ high like we got propellers
‘Goddamn, y’all boys doin’ it’, they stop to tell us
And if God propel us to the top, I won’t go pop
No need to act a fool in public
‘Cause when you, ego trip you just lose your luggage and well…
I ain’t got no time top play with ‘cha
I’m Phonte, international stage ripper done
Made friends and made figgas
while you stuck on the front porch
Mad, like you fixin’ ta shave Mister
That’s reality, so color me purple
My name in history, nigga that’s what I work for
Better keep it moving like the laws of inertia
Before these Carolina boys come hurt ‘cha
better tell ’em bout it…

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Track One, Verse One, Stillmatic

July 6, 2008

Ayo, the brother’s “Stillmatic”
I crawled up out of that grave,
wipin the dirt, cleanin my shirt
They thought I’d make another “Illmatic”
But it’s always forward I’m movin
Never backwards stupid here’s another classic

C-notes is fallin from the sky,
by now the credits roll they’re starrin Nas,
executive poet, produced directed by
the Kid slash Escobar; narration describes
the lives of lost tribes in the ghetto tryin to survive
The feature opens with this young black child, fingers scratched
Cigarette burns on the sofa, turnin the TV down
While Mary Jane Girls, 45’s playin, soft in the background
Food from C-Town’s, mornings was hash browns
Stepped over dopefiends, walkin out the door, all of us poor
I learned the difference between the snitches,
the real ones, and who’s soft
And the murderous, hungriest crews
People jumping from roofs,
shotguns pumping, made it through my youth
Walking very thin lines, ages seven and nine
That’s the age I was on my album cover, this is the rebirth
I know the streets thirst water like Moses
Walking through the hot desert searching to be free
This is my ending and my new beginning nostalgia
Alpha and Omega places, it’s like a glitch in “The Matrix”
I seen it all, did it all, most of y’all will pop for a minute
Spit a sentence then the game’ll get rid of y’all

Y’all got there but y’all didn’t get it all, I want my style back
Hate to cease y’all plan it’s the rap repo man
To them double up hustlers, bidders, niggaz who real
Professionals, stick-up kids dreamin for mills
Let my words guide you, get inside you
From Crip to Pirus this is survival…

Track Twelve, Verse Two, Moment Of Truth

May 30, 2008


Peace to the young ladies, who wanna bone me much
And peace to my nigga Premier, with the golden touch
I never fall off point, like DeNiro in Casino
Peace to Black Gambinos and all my peoples
dig the steelo — I’m fightin wars you know
as in the Jihad, most humble, most merciful
That’s because I be God, I trog through fogs, puffing logs
MC’s muttering menial madness, they get mobbed
Scarred and barred, and then, banished from my fuckin kingdom
You got a fly one bring one, or else I come to fling some
exquisite exotic exciting type shit
Enough to make the real heads wake up and get hype quick
I’m type slick, known as the God Universal
Kick rhymes without rehearsal, I cross the burnin sands
Now I stand here with virtue, of course I could hurt you
simply with my point of view, and I knew
that many would come, that’s why I’ve chosen
to cut off pathways, and there’s no runways or doorways open
for the jokers who ain’t focused
And all the fake mercenaries get buried by the tongue of terrifying fury
Nothing’s blurry, fuck it I got no worries
Hearts and minds, shine bright light with insight
Yeah sense my birthright to set up cyphers with power
cause mad shit ain’t right, like punks in the spotlight
who can’t freestyle, sometimes I make my peeps smile
by sayin somethin crazy wild
like some shit off my dome, that be soundin
better than the next man’s whole album…

Track One, Verse Two, Mama Said Knock You Out

March 21, 2008

LL

Girlies wanna ride with a brother like me
Cause they be hear me gettin’ funky frequently
They tell me don’t drink and drive, I say what is this
Pass the Heineken and mind your business
Roll up a fat one and pass it around
Laid back, hypnotized by the funky sound
People in the street see me bobbin my head
While I’m checkin’ out the rapper and the rhyme that he said
I’m frontin’, and I don’t care if you know
The backseat of my car is like a disco show
You would think I was a good friend of Al Capone
Crazy air freshener, who needs cologne
Bottom to the bottom to the top to the top
Cruise – it’s 3 o’clock
The girlies, they smile, they see me comin’
I’m steady hummin’, I got the Funky Drummer drummin’
My trunk be shakin’, vibratin’ and rattlin’
Pumpin’ so loud, all the shorties be battlin’
A right-hand man’s here without the swing
Every chance I get I’m showin’ off my rings
I can keep it up until the break of dawn
Cos I’m frontin’ in my ride and my word is bond

Track Nineteen, Verse Three, Late Registration

March 11, 2008

Knock knock, who’s there? Killa Cam, Killa who?
Killa Cam, hustler, grinder, gorilla true
Oh my chinchilla blue, blue you ever dealt with a dealer
Well here’s the deal ma we goin to the dealer, boo
No concealin, no ceiling I don’t need a roof
Act up, get out, I don’t need you poof
Poof, be gone, damn tough luck dag
Dag, niggaz still doin puff puff pass
Pull the truck up fast and I tell ’em
Hey, back in a touched up Jag, shit
Y’all niggaz want a Killa Cam cerebellum
An old man just gon’ tell ’em (too late, he, gone)
Then I see how y’all gonna react when I’m (gone)
My last girl want me back then I’m on
Fine stay, you got the grind hey
Came back, read what the sign say (too late, he, gone)
Yes I know you wanna see my demise
Yeah you church boy actin like a thief in disguise
Ain’t leavin my side, see the greed in my eyes
Ask Abby y’all hustle for a week to the Chi, shit
And that ain’t even a lie, please believe me
Gave Weezy a piece of the pie, and
You can ask George or Regina
The whole Westside I explore with the Beemer now

Track Eleven, Verse Three, Food & Liquor

February 26, 2008

So through the Grim Reaper sickle sharpening
Macintosh marketing
Oil field augering
Brazilian adolescent disarmament
Israeli occupation
Islamic martyrdom, precise
Yeah, laser guided targeting
Oil for food bartering, and terrorist organization harborin’
Sand camouflage army men
CCF sponsorin’, world conquerin’, telephone monitorin’
Louis Vuitton modelin’, pornographic actress honorin’
String theory ponderin’, bulimic vomitin’
Catholic priest fondlin’, preemptive bombin’ and Osama and Obama and them
They breakin’ in my car again, deforestation and overloggin’ and
Hennessy and Hypnotic swallowin’, hydroponic coughin’ and
All the world’s ills, sittin’ on chrome 24-inch wheels, like that