Frontline Songtext

My vendetta in this form of musical song
Is to enlighten and brighten the mind through instrument and rhyme
And fix those inadequate flows that don't adapt
Makin' snacks on wax plates for DJs to scratch

Fast slash, cross hatch slash, cross patch
Every word of mine will be verbally so tight to match
That or that I hit you harder than Caterpillar trucks
In the lab where we collaborate or matter will erupt

From a, music martyr, bust mortar, break the order
Torch your sound texture, fire water's in my aura
Your future forefather, your new wave slave wrapped in chains and amulets
And hard to earn assets

Yo, niggas game playin' but not name sayin'
My aim's sprayin', I get mine that's why you stay waitin'
And vacatin', whether you know it or not, I'ma blow up the spot
If you owe me a lot, I'ma show up with Glocks
And you're still wet, pull up your socks, suspend the art
Sizzle like woks, underground spots, from the city to the boondocks
Bounce, double wishbone suspension like shocks
Multiple plans and plots, word

[Chorus:]
You know we shine with rhymes all the time
Keep in mind don't test these MCs who bless (Word)
Test these MCs
You know we shine with rhymes all the time
Keep in mind don't test these MCs who bless (Word)
Test these MCs (Word what ugh)
Test these MCs

I spit fire satire, indeed bleed, phenomenal demographics
Broadcast my rhyme forecast to eager addicts
Pave a path many can't outlast
Who these cats who blast gats rehearsin' lines for a movie cast?
But as a central, blaze the track engage
Instamatic sporadic insight pays for days
With their sickening floss, flip on tracks like Dominique Dawes
Pause, date back, flows is gettin' flashback

My existence, spirits in animated film
Three-dimensionally roller scoped
With cloakin' devices, skates, stogies and a motor boat
I hold the Pope for ransom, it's
The handsomest, assassinatin' Satan
Leavin' the world Marilyn Manson-less
I'm in the streets like Sesame
The recipe - to kill, attain da mil/DeMille like Cecille B.
The rest'll be the aftermath, the most got statistics
Pharoahe Monch, Steve Post about to lift it


I gotta get mine, give it back so you can get yours

I gotta get mine, give it back so you can get yours

I gotta get mine, give it back so you can get yours
Yo yo uhh what

I'm leavin' your staff mated, makin' these crabs hate it
I lotta fags rate it and thought I got stagnated
I'm not some rap nigga that you're dyin to meet
Just another hungry brother real hungry and tryin' to eat
And in the streets you better rely on your feet
Babies is feelin' iron, cryin' to sleep
Plus the government is supplying the heat
They goin' psychotic in prison 'cause of the economic additions
Plus sex and drugs in the bleachers

3-4 come up, run up in beefcake gun butt-ups
Crush truck chains, the wiry gold frames
Chains sums up, the dollars, white collar, blue Range
Eat my dust up, ten in the bucket in the left lane gainin' momentum
Cum sendin' comers, fair game, a lot of sumtin' sumtin'
All in or nothin', silence the sufferin'
Can't stand the strugglin', some resume games to stain jugglin'
I muscled in and scribbled my name

Belittle your brain, the true grain riddle your frame
Got you forfeitin' the bitch by the middle of the game
Hostile, impossible to stop below the free
Buck em down, shook em nothin' at the top of the key
Prince, I'm nippatant, magnificent moves, strategic
Smash joints, leavin' the track paraplegic
Repeat it for those who need it, niggas catch the vibe
Fish 'n grits, hot sauce, forever embedded inside

[Chorus:]

What, ugh, yo, yeah come on, yeah yeah
By my nigga El Da Sensei, Mike Zoot, ynah I'msayin?
Okay, F.T., guess why'ld
I gotta fresh style