Guest
Mad Skillz Album: From Where??? 1996, Produced by Clark Kent Lyrics: On the real, I freak techniques and beats in my sleep The mack back in action show skills when I speak Watch my shit leak when I bring it to your face I still corner dimes, but in the nine I'm on a paper chase Glass rocks, mega tops, Tims on your block Holding heat like crock pots and keeping g's in my socks (So, what's up, hopps?) I got to keep it tight like seams Cause ain't no fiends Coming in between me and my dreams See what I mean, black? I keep it real like that F a “word is bond“ I need stocks and bonds from these ill raps Rappers won't see me with contacts, friend So, please act you've got a Siamese twin and think again Cause in the end I start off with flavor Next to bless your chest with freestyle fantasia Smooth behavior Seeing rappers as illusions Meaning they disappear but I'm hear to keep you moving Chorus: Everybody, move ya body! Everybody, move ya body! Everybody, move ya body! I don't think twice, kid You know I bring it to ya live (repeat) See, I don't get writer's block Yo, I block other writers And there's been nights I had to wear sniper attire for biters Don't make that same mistake and get scarred, retard I see that tape you listening to got you thinking that you hard But dig this... Cut your hair and get your name on your stomach I still find ways to make your whole rap career plummet Maintain I steal mics out of the frame But now people think they know me cause they know my real name While I stay same Doing shows and tours Somewhere in a phat whip playing Sega in the dashboard Styles of sword(?) and flowing steadily Trapping MCs in mazes forever like Frankie Beverly You know the steeze I'm bringing beats to they knees Holacausting MCs and sees some g's before I breath That's how it be It's no doubt that I Got to bring it to your chest as I bring it to ya live Chorus So, from this point on until the day that they bury me I'll still be on a hunt trying to snatch this currency Putting my peeps on while friends turn fake They get pissed thinking I be in Switzerland checking some real estate Dropping LPs every year Somewhere in a mansion with a butler named Vincent Jeffrey Belvadere I'm rare But, rappers ain't trying to hear The reason why their girl freestyled her number in my ear It's my year, son, and I ain't trying to slip I'm trying to collect props and get not(?) to stretch money clips Honey-dips I keep 'em on like low end So, f five-o Illegal, so we don't got to go there It's so unfair How I do wack crews shady They want to be next up Their style sucks like a new baby They can't faze me Mics and man fusion Beats I keep bruising Do your thing and keep moving Chorus (repeat twice)
