Free download
An old school hip-hop head with a futuristic flow & unique style.
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #1,618
Peak in subgenre #720
Author
Chuckie
Uploaded
February 11, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.3 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
Sitting in a cell block, watching the mechanics of my hand
Knowing it’s something more to me, than a DNA strand
In my other hand, contraband, should of been a mic stand…
But I’m caught up in this mental mind state, Federal I wait…
For the right time, & while I wait to rhyme great
Ima break open a category that’ll heighten the crime rate….
On the current landscape, nah really I’m all in it…
I’m just in love with the concept of keeping hip-hop, authentic
I’m left coast, independent, aint death row but yo...
u could find me & my meal ticket, cutting throat with something dope
focused on direction, seen by no man…
throwing images on the 3rd rock with a thousand pound crayon..
im a crossbreed, of the seed of God with a heathens plan
understand fam, you a fan of a fire breathing, man...
who could flip a grand to 100 grand inside of an hour glass span...
keeping the feds out my pocket like, what u need my man?…
Hook:
I work from the inside out rhyme architect, handle that
Like an Islamic rebel thru the Sedan, on camel back….
Taking the industry village, rape and then pillage
Stay fulfilling, prophecy, trampling over hypocrisy
Like KRS ima set up a hip-hop Theocracy
That’s my philosophy now who’s to stop me?
Aint nothing but blades on mirror tops chop chopping me
My street value, a 45 performing a ill, Colonoscopy
I’m possibly, the futures most wanted commodity..
It’s just a matter of time & formulation, before they cop me…
Copyright that, before I drop that, contract..
2020 Soundtrack, for when Iraq bomb back..
behind bars, guilty as charged
for every bone, up in ya body broke, its the ChuckieRock massage
the neurosurgeon, be nurturing your brain
I’m cold hearted, icebergs crash throughout my veins now…
Hook:
Hip Hop got me on suicide watch, tourniquet tight…
My pen when it run out of ink it start to resemble a knife…
Most the time I turn it on me like it’s curtains tonight…
Stab myself in the chest to draw blood, so I could write
My words, suicidal as well jumping off my tongue.
Blowing they brains in mid-air, collapsing on they gun..
Ass on the concrete left to decay in the sun..
Sike! they resurrect themselves then through the city streets, they run...
folding up, tricks & hoes holding up, liquor stores
livin by the code, all of my folks is stick up pros.....
miniature Gods, demanding applause at gunpoint
dumping hollow point, punches score points for my joints…
& they, do it all…….. solely for your enjoyment..
unique heat that’ll eat through any kind of an ointment
but right now, I’m devising a plan to evacuate..
to dissolve into a DJ crate then celebrate, the greatest escape up out my mind state.…
