Yo, before the
Greeks and the
Creeks
It's an old deep rock classic, nigga
Yo, before the
Greeks and the
Creeks
You thought you could stand
before your hands from your feet
From a band or a beat,
we would stand on the street
With our hands on our feet
Twelve grams, twelve feet away,
balled up in a sheet
A
Reynolds rap, one smack,
needs a dental vac
Your voice get quiet like the
voice in an instrumental track
Sick from the litmus, son
Sit the city as my voice unfolds
With the soul of the whispers
On the block we rock loud like the pistols
Up in the crib I wear a jacket and a
Harvey's
Bristol
Natural flavor,
you ask me artificial I blow holes in skin like
Big
Nose use 90's tissue
They call me jerk when the
dollar dollar bill is on
The thrill is gone,
upgrade to the silicone
That's worth the four billion,
eight hundred million
It's not official till I snack
the devil you silly on
From the valleys of
Ohio to the sands of
Cairo
Still hit like the road when
King of
Rio
Zig -zag, zig -a -log,
still puzzled like the jigsaw
You renege, you get jigsawed
Deep
Rock
Exclusive
We bogart the road like
trucks on a turnpike
Smoke bottle low just to
see what it burns like
Architectural design, intellectual rhyme,
the bishop's stripe
Moving on a diagonal line,
the ruck's track
Scholars they want the books back,
the peace they turn to salt the moment they look back
The castle in position made weak
by a winged pawn
Knights lose armor from
the pressure we bring on
They fired all their shots and the
rhymes were mad flares
Have a cramped gang,
many posted on bad squares
The king's the kick,
the queen's the snare
The bass are minor pieces
that move in a pair
Quick to break through,
an unparalleled opponent
I do it on the regular,
at any given moment
Check the venue,
those who make the saga continue
Before you check the credits,
the sword is all in you