Twists and turns in these lyrical mazes diasporic behaviors by Laze it's
Yet another corner of the style that Bone Thugs couldn't harmonize
And others digging they way straight to Hell as they watch my Buddhist karma rise
So what's the next plateau for me like Ultramag's first release
Cure a disease? Oh brother please, been there done that and ate the feast
My lyrics tick like sand in the hourglass and I expand these beats
'Till they burst at the seams things ain't what they seem remember that when we meet
Here I come with the fucking lyrics to blow your mind up
Rewind up the tape and watch the snake's coil rattle
The battle is on, against brown foxes and obnoxious
Lyricals not understandable street slang beyond comprehensible
I use dental tools to remove
The plaque in the back of your cranium
As I blow up like uranium, taking Nas fools and disdaining them
Saying "Gotti" so many times, you're gonna find me arraigning them
'Cause the year of the hard, scarred emcee has passed
Present answers for the problems that you verbally harass
When the English language is all that's hurt by your linguistics
The meaning? You missed it, check the purist, it's
L-a-z and I plead the fifth letter
The go-getter, heavy sweater under pressure
Hey -- no keys or money G's, please! Fuck the rock man
This kid's more broker than a stock man, I got mad
Bills, you thought I was 'a say skills, that too, but I kill
Ignorance with the flip of a frankincense to a bookmill
Open my mind with the histories of cultures past
Learn what they won't teach me and see how long the vultures last
I coach this brain of mine to get rich like Brandywine
There's ground and I'm standing mine, never silent like a pantomime
Breakin' molds, pissing people off on my way on the up
They don't like it? They getting fucked by me on the go-go like Huck-a-Bucks
Suck my ding-a-ling like Chuck Berry, that's a scary thought
As I continue on the Downlow... like Mat Cart-
er, I take a moment to prove the absurdity
In a foreign tongue that got more rhymes than a nursery
Hey -- who the fuck is cursing me? I don't give a motherfucking fuck
'Cause I won't get stuck in the rut of a gutter 'cause my shit's butter
Spread it on your bread, it's the taste of my generation
'Causin' perspiration on the brows of those with constipation
You're getting stuck
Who the fuck you think you're dealing with? Know what the fuck I've been through?
Not a hell of a lot but I got shit locked down cooked like a barbecue
How hard are you? Hey, got a minute to test yourself?
Put yourself at the end of a loaded barrel and tell me if you wet yourself
Why do you choose for Tommy Hil to represent your race?
When tommy is just an old-ass rich white guy with a smiling, wrinkly face
Disgrace to the fucking nation like hip-hop to Timberlands
Put your ear to my lips and let me tell you what you'll find me in:
Levi's jeans too big for me when I wear my shirt out
And a bulky hooded sweatshirt to make it look like I work out
Brothers thinking, "Who's he fooling with that thin ass rear?"
And I wonder the same of those who are wearing five-hundred dollar gear
Hip-hop is a lifestyle that I've lived since I was small
But these new jack Foxy Brown kids want to take it all
Critics screaming "Chuck D sold out, now he's a fucking zero"
But shit, Chuck's my man and you bet he's my fucking hero
I got the back of the folks that be pushed down into the muck
'Cause they may be sticky in the mud but new jacks is getting stuck
They getting stuck.
Stuck like a postage stamp I'mma mail that ass to your producer
To show him who's getting looser, more fluid than a juicer
Your ass is a food dehydrator making chips
But on this level I'm killing devils with this ol' ill shit
A record deal down the road with a doper rhyme is a hope of mine
Mountain Brothers got signed to Columbia, it's about fucking time
Folks dragging they feet like they toes was breathing fire
While the rest of the nation watched in shock like electric wire
And who perspired? The kids who worked the hardest
But record labels seem to have a fetish for mainstream bullshit artists
Fuck the gimmick shit, I won't be limited, bitch
Innovative styles for years with miles of tears from smiling peers
This ain't no dog food disgusting imitation meat replacement
It's the meatiest, roughest lyrical style this side of where you pay rent
As I rule the whole complex, but I don't have one, just like Chino X
I don't need no sex. Fuck that, I do, but I got restraint by inhaling paint fumes
I consume the high and turn it into talent
No Alazay in this bloodstream I need to maintain my balance
I'll Tommy Tippy toe to your apartment, to get shit started
With your woman as she's telling me, "But he can't help it if he's retarded!"
With this many songs under my belt I find the time to handle things
As I dismantle Ming's dynasty, I'll die nasty as the band'll sing
My praises doing covers of my songs from five years ago
Competition gets stuck as they struck with lyrical vertigo
[Anon]
I get stuck in pounds of pussy regardless of its race
Move from position to position like I was losing a race
Stop on the breaks glance over your models and makes,
Grab your goods and spread 'em
All over the place, disregard all warning signs
Play you like dimes from an ounce, watch as I pounce
I'll stick you, I stuck you, you're out of luck
Now, I just gave a fuck about two minutes ago
Like a sensation of pleasure unable to be measured, mix it with a beat
Instantly get out of your seat
Eat my marshmallows give daps to my fellows
Deep like the gallows filled to the brim
Good to the last time I dropped it, you make me sick
Fake rhymes, repeated: I kicked it, so delete it
That night in the asylum, rain hit the roof
Lightning striking in the sky as I was searching for the truth
Ghosts of my past kept creeping
Flying in my face keeping me from sleeping
Visions of the devil flashed in front of me
With each one came a clap of thunder that said it wanted me
I said, "Doctor, the sounds are frightening me"
He told me, "Calm down. It's just the lightning, G."
He must be Satan's helper, I see past the disguise
I have 20/20 vision through all of the Doctor's lies
I look into my eyes in the mirror on the wall
And images of murderers scream out and call
From beyond the grave, John Wayne Gacy's facing me
"Put 'em in the basement" he says, now I'm pacing, G
I'm in a locked room and I want to get out
Or I'm dead tonight, beyond the shadow of a doubt
Midnight struck and I felt out of luck
Spirits flew around my room and I was still stuck
I couldn't do anything to rid myself of evil
My eyes rolled back in my head when I heard people
Making noise in the hallway, some sort of ruckus
I started banging, "Let me out the door's stuck it's
locked... get me out damn it!" and the lock rattled
The door flew open and I laid eyes on the battle
Spirits and patients ganging up on the doctors
I heard sirens and the sound of a helicopter
Us people in the robes fled the premises
But the spirits followed us speaking subliminal messages
Nowhere to go but the woods
Trees talked to us be we stuck together like we should
100 patients strong the night that we got out
With each damn tree casting shadows of doubt
We bathed in the rain and dried off in the moonlight
We'd just as soon fight as lose our human rights
But voices from beyond spoke to each of us
Telling us to listen because they were teaching us
By the break of day we were all on our own
But not looking for a telephone or looking for a way home
The voices. The voices were my force
They told me who to kill and how to feel no remorse
I didn't want to do it, I fled
But you can't run away from what's inside your head
I was tired as hell and I didn't want to take no life
But the voices guided me to where to find a knife
I picked it up against my own will: no...
I can't kill... I can't kill! I can... but still
"I want out! I won't do it!" I shout
The voices say: "You will." I will
Beyond the shadow of a doubt
I can't take it no more, the pressure is too much
I'm gonna' kill myself before I kill somebody else
But the people in my head are no longer just voices
They're little tiny beings running and making noises
They jump out of my ears and run all over the place
I know that they're not real but I feel them on my face
Can I get away? Can I leave my mind behind?
It's not like in the movies where everyone else is blind
They all see me cracking and they all are scared of me
And they stare at me, I want to carve them into little pieces, G
No, I won't, I get a hold of myself
I'm physically strong just have bad mental health
I can deal with it, that's my conclusion
And before too long I come up with a solution
I pour hot acid in my ears to burn the bad thoughts out
A lyrical style that transcends boundaries,
Crossing over 'cause I found these styles and sounds free
Of mainstream taming
There's no one else for blaming so I took responsibility
For the same thing as the sucker in the white hood,
The brother in the hoodie killed the white supremist goodie-goodie
A battered brother's blood is on my hands
'Cause the man in the grandstand tried to rub it off when he
Snubbed a soft follower that followed his or her commands
And got beat like a bitch in heat -- Goddamn
Now that my pitch fell what the hell?
The style's too complex to be vexed by a simple minded sucker
Can you tell? I doubt it so you'll catch an enema
Hose running through your head cleaning out your dreads
Or cleaning out your wallet the scheming sex fiend
You ain't jack shit and never amounted to a hill of beans
You're running around in circles and I'm lurking in the dark
You're more oblivious to my lyrics than Lois is to Clark
Wake up to the show like Sway and Tech in California
If your album flops, no excuses 'cause I warned ya:
Using the same style throughout every record
Will burn your fans out you gots to come unexpected
Come with the new flavor for they ears
Cause they'll buy more records if they like what they hear
Simple economics: it's the bomb, it'll sell
It's weak as shit, freaking send the shit to hell
Sign yourself to Warner Brothers and sign your life away
Major label deals appeal to those like Dr. Dre
Motherfuckers with the same sorry ass sound
High pitch synth squeals and cheesy drum pounds
I'll call you Barbie 'cause you're like a nude toy
Messin' with the Laze: the roughest rude boy
Draw the battle lines 'cause the battle rhymes are coming
We'll rhyme, pour a drink, and eat dinner while we humming
Check out the jazz beat that's flowing down the Music River
I'm about to give an enema to the public
They dub this and bootleg it many times
But many rhymes are stored and if not I'll freestyle
Meanwhile, others be searching for a meaning
Me defeated? Please... pinch yourself you must be dreaming
Huh, I'll never be taken down by any fool
'Cause any fool would know that many ladies drool
Over the Laze 'cause the praise I deserve
Can't be expressed by a predicate, noun, or verb
A master of the English language and the linguists
Say "this thing can't be from here"
Cause I'm cunning and I be running for office,
1994 and Sye can't beat box
I don't care 'cause, yo, I got on clean socks
'Cause my girl behind me washed 'em today
And um, it's 10:42 that's all I gotta' say
Matt Sutter sitting in the back of the room (hi)
With the cigarette smoking that boom
But that doesn't really pertain
To what I'm saying, I'm just sort of like, um, playing
The fattest new tracks that I've heard
Since I've came in here and so I gots to say um
Word. Yeah, that's the word, that's the word
Um, word word word, word is the word
So, we gonna' close it out a little something like this
Bass thick as the chunky milk your moms drinks
Toss a lyric at my boys to see what they think
Gots to keep on rolling with a stream of consciousness because
Consistent flows of thought are what I taught for efficientness
And though opinions are important and I take my criticism
If it's unsubstantiated the middle finger's what i give 'em
Taste a sliver of the lyrics I developed in my womb
A lyrical fetus to be delivered to the public soon
Dub it fool, dub it fool, get my shit known
'Cause I'm livin' in a glass house and I want to cast a stone
Maybe Sharon will guide me with her natural instinct
Prefer the basic 'cause the complicated gets extinct
The foundation's always there and to show that I care
About the future of the music I'll use it to repair
The current condition of all the wack ass shows
And I'll end each one with a pound, bro
Left to the right with a pound... bro, so
Gimmie a pound, bro, gimmie a pound bro
Left to the right with a pound... bro, so
Gimmie a pound, bro
How'd it happen I was rapping and my brain exploded
Thought I was freestyling and I was! I never wrote it!
If I wanna kick the lyrics off the top no one's gonna' stop me
Rock the show with a pound bro, it sounds so
Simple but the so-called lyricists
Couldn't freestyle if it came out they piss
Give me a topic and I'll rock it in an instant
Whether I sound near (or whether I sound distant)
Shouts go out to motherfucking M-W-C
And all the fools on the planet who supported me
I got too many lyrics, don't drown, yo'
End this bullshit this bullshit with a what, what?!
Check the crazy flow, from the crazy bro
Step to the stage and get beat by the lazy ho
Self-centered rhymes I'm the king of braggadocio
Grab the microphone and put the shit into motion
Always on my toes checkin' my back for backstabbers
But I'm strapped with a mic to smash a wack rapper
The hands clap I slap a fool across the face
Spray his ass with mace, eat him up and say my grace
The rhymes are woven like a tapestry in fact it's me
With the needle in my hand sewing and attacking the
Style biters rhyme reciters with the same sound
As I did last year when my peers put me down
But now they getting rave reviews and I still refuse
To believe it I achieved it last year and they makes me snooze
'95 is the year and I'm coming with a new sound so
Hurrikane, my motherfucker, gimmie a pound, bro
Left to the right with a pound... bro, so
Gimmie a pound, bro, gimmie a pound bro
Left to the right with a pound... bro, so
Another Laze production with an even smoother sound
It's 1994 and I'm taking breaking suckers down
To they lowest element, they claim it's irrelevant
That they ain't true artists but they do it for the hell of it
I'm the schizophrenic tenet in your house
And when you pop that shit, hurry scurry like a mouse
Suckers getting busted in they teeth when they fuck around
I'll call you Bozo Lollipop 'cause you're a sucker, clown
You're rhymes are just a drizzle and I be weatherwise
Guys pissing on they mother like it was DEAD/ALIVE
But step for a battle of snaps and I'll beat you
Your mother's like Bologna but she'll still refuse to meet you
Teaching like a professor but yet the intellectuals
Say my rhyme's divine though it's still ineffectual
Shove your arguments, get in line and take a number, son
I'm the motherfucker that be number one
Number one on your hit list but also on the playlist
Of the radio stations that promised me they'd play this
Five years in the game yet I still have to answer to
New jack fans looking for shit for dancing to
They all disappointed when they hear me start to roll
'Cause I ain't sayin' "Whoot" or "Fiz-uck the hiz-oe"
That ain't mi stylee and I be wondering
Why the drizzle rhymers seem to be thundering
On the charts but yet they started rhyming last month
I'm at a midnight snack you just past lunch
It ain't my fault I ain't speakin' on a blunt or gun
Just to prove the fact that I'm number one
All the fools was acting foolish like it was they job
But year after year I make more hits than the mob
Brothers want to battle on the mic they can shove it
'Cause this is my job and Goddamn it, I love it
Producers hear my tracks and turn a shade of envy green
'Cause have you ever sampled from Stanley Turrentine?
I doubt it you'll get routed 'cause the shit that I flip
Is like a stack of fecal pancakes here's my syrup let it drip
Other lyricists are hearing this and pissing in they pants
Scared of the small guy in the kick-your-ass stance
Dance if you want to, but let me spin the vinyl
I can work a crowd like college kids at finals
You wanted a piece of me, see what your luck did?
Grab yourself a Stairmaster and step up, kid
When they hear me rhyming, brothers catching woodies: lumber's fun
I created something funky fresh and funky new
Brothers started playing monkey see and monkey do
Honky dory check the funky story
As I punch a brother in face and watch him fall to the floor
See the blood dripping from his nose 'cause he imitated
Now he got me irritated 'cause his style is overrated
Not to mention overdone yet he's making mad funds
From the people at the record company with the lack of eardrums
Some are fair to the public
But many employ trendy rappers with a gimmick to get with it
Until next year when whole trend changes
Group is fucked and stuck with an image to rearrange
It's derranged: us kids with originality
Can't get a record deal because of technicalities
Instead do the same old same old Marky Mark and
His funky crew, monkey see: monkey do
It's sick
Flick a booger on the face, fuck it I'm coming with lyrical mace
In the place 'cause Miami bass bullshit bumps trunks
But does nothing for the mind, I'm here to expand, damn
Pass the flan, Duckman, shit's about to hit the fan
Boom, what an odoriferous aroma
Rappers talking shit from New York to Tacoma
Mackframa what? Your mama, laminate the fakes and break
Beats on the floor when they shatter on the wack rappers
Crappers. Rappers talking trash like a disposer
I dis the posers: for sure I'm flowing so...
Stumbling and mumbling words
Nouns, predicates, adjectives, verbs
All is in the structure of the vocabulary
It's scary but not Scary-us, hairy bust
Hairy arms, catch the funky pit
Monkey see, monkey do, monkey shit
Copy cat rhymers are like copy cat killers
Never the real thing, 'cause they could never fill the
Shoes that I left even though my feet are small
The funk that I leave behind makes me seem tall
With every line that I drop I pop an emcee's bubble
He's in serious trouble when Shaggy says "On the double, Scooby"
I'm not a car you can't lube me, even though i'm groovy
I'm not the Brady Bunch so like the Doobies get a clue, G
Otis Redding sat on the dock of the bay
But Dwayne was the first man to say "Hay hay hay"
What's that got to do with anything, nothing much
But emcees that be chilling getting hot to the touch
It never impressed me to see a talented brother
Sell out and go hardcore talking this that and the other
With the fucked up outfits looking like Punky Brewster
Inflation of the blunt rhymes calls for infiltration of the
Front lines, eat a punk like pork rinds
Roll trashy emcees up, puff and pull another toke out
Stomp 'em out like the great american smoke out
I vote against another weeded emcee
Next one I see will be a bleeding emcee
Intensified, I blow up the wack
Fools, make a narcoleptic an insomniac.
"Mom he's fat, mom he's fat, let me buy his tape!"
Ten years from now Showbiz'll dig in my crates
'Cause all the dope breaks i have in my room
Japanese bamboo flute?
Damn, didn't think I would have it
Now every other DJ out there is gonna' grab it
Or give me some records to sample, I don't need those
Cool wit me though, my shit's tight like Speedos
Pick up the pieces, puzzle pieces, check the new releases
Ask what the stink is, it's me, I'm the shit like feces
I need these rhymes and metaphors
'Cause like Kool Keith said I'll make 'em better for
The break beats I use to fuse with
Kids 'cause they did, pop the fucking lid
Competition has expired like milk in your mama's fridge
You ain't a soap opera, so stop all the drama, kid
Jump out the box like a mug named Jack
Named after what your rhymes are worth, you worthless mack
I got stacks of new material
The inferior will try to get to the interior
Inside I keep the secret laboratory
Like Mad Professor I guess the scrolls are on the second story
Don't bore me with wack production
I will call for destruction shit's tight like stuffing
Shit's tight like a virgin, you heard men screaming
Possessed by the demon out of Jersey you heard me
With the on-and-off drums, I come correct
Like Alex Trebec catching wreck like a broke neck
Double metaphors affecting how I'm mic checking
One, two, as if I couldn't count
Bounce like a fat check or a fat chick on a trampoline
I trample fiends who deem it necessary to bury bones
Of the skeletons in my closet
I had the beat and lost it
Frost it like a cake with the flavor of the month
Tell me what you want... tell me what you want, don't front
I'll bring you what you desire with no perspire-ation
But I'll lose patience if you ask for G-Funk
Fuck the P-funk, I'm coming with the elephant trunk
Of rhymes for your ass, you better catch it hold your mitt tight
