I'm not your average MC, been spitting for over a decade and writing for way longer. Getting good with making beats and playing the electric guitar. Music is ev
What's up
Name is Lord Tenzo, and i've been doing this ever since i can remember. Started as a way to vent and move on with my life, but has quickly turned into the only thing that really defines me. Im getting good at guitar and been starting to make beats. Lived all over the place so my sound is real unique. Gangsta yet refined. I take this serious. I don't have any fear about not making it. Some people are meant to build cars, or catch footballs. I was born to rock crowds. Simple ya know?
Smoke Budz
-HB
Lyrics
Watch me as the beat drops, and listen for shoutouts
A crowd stuck down to deliver the loud mouths
Its all fucked now, and my pity just falls short
Practice on my flow, like im spitting a fall sport
Fucked by the industry, when thinking that crap sells
If music was a boxing match, I’m Ringing the raps bell
grind on my tracks sick shine on my stats
Get signed or my rhythem gets lined on the back shelf
Acidic in gums, lungs with criminal scar sets
Spit with a swagger and original heart jest
Im not a church type, from the miracle convent
Or hump back spitting with some lyrical content
Or chump that’s rhythem is inferior please no
I spit from the heart every written is free flow
Flips whens my niggas say tricks gonna get em
Get sick when im spitting real shit with a vengeance
(Hook)
You talk the talk but can you walk the walk
Can you, west Fucking Durham, put it down for ya block
Can you a spit a dope line maybe few at a time
Rhyming to find that only dope lines are few in ya mind
Are you a thug or a student or a bud smoking movement
Bent on moving to the music when the drugs poke ya mucus
Why are you faking, time that I say
Bitch back or ya shit’ll get smacked by the basics
Rep hard from the bullcity, deal wit my set
When inferring to my lyrics, get the feel when I bet
Ya hearing effects the sects, of my lyrical text
A fear in the best to bless, put ya tears to the test
With the mic clutched, up chuck the pain and the stress
When my throat hurts burned under the strain in duress
And I live in this moment, its the realest it gets
When the beat goes hard and a phoenix is flexed
A reason of rest, to say that im working my ass off
To hope that you folks get the hurt that I pass off
And the feeling is wet, from the mic in my hand
To my brow where the sweat puts a fright in my glands
A cyfer of chance, to fight with a sight in my glance
Its like my music, listen Michael put ya life in my hands
I pop lights like ceiling fan, hyped when im writing
From the mic to the beat I rock right when im spitting fam
A new wave of the emcee’s, a flow of tomorrow
Kinda track smack dab inside the phones of Guevara
Im hoping the sorrow flees and my writing is flawless
From the noun to the verb every hyphen regardless
It’s a microscope toke, im never getting a break
And If I spit a weak verse, then my writtens are played
And If I spit a weak verse, then im living in gray
And If I spit a weak verse, then im given away
….but that’s the way that it happens
real life, no hype and my patience is snapping
I listen to these wack cats, im actually hardest
with no sick multies? then im practically garbage
Kinda shit are sporting are you thinking its fresh guy?
Nah, 30 dollars, you can find it at best buy
And all you critics you can bawl on ya minutes
Mr fall back or finish when im all into ripping this shit
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