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KingOfSugarHill
07-21-06, 09:39 PM
Not a block boy
He owned dope in Brazil
Fists gold like the throat of Jibreel
A no-coded stolen sig in the grill
for if the summer usher in an interruption of meals
Whether plain clothes, cuffs and a shield
The po's routinely dusted from his hustlin field
It's like his heart pumpin wasn't for real
Bumpin Seal in the Lotus wit a Londoner kneeled
over her own knees
Head bobbin under the wheel
Damn
He used to sell coke in chemical combinations
Seated in a wicker chair chopped it in the basement
Wore a crown composed of broken bones
of denizens of a deplorable town
where the mornin's a sound
like crankin up the fryer and slidin the shortenin down
His lady's parents a porcelain pound
And he kept her in a baggy that she wore as a gown
N*ggas sniff behind her so he kept his shorty around.

KingOfSugarHill
07-21-06, 09:59 PM
In fitted caps
N*ggas tap-dancin on the reels
Reluctant to upset Yakub's handle on they heels
I separate illusory family from the real
Like Krishna tutorin Arjuna on the battlefield
The labels jeopardize with categories concealed
So the answer you provide's for questions never revealed
Meanin this
Instead of your philosophy
they see your gleamin fist
No change from the way Langston Hughes seen it since
Slave on the block
they impressed by your penis length
I bust up your mythologies with Herculean strength
My opponents can't handle Flyin Crane
With studded fists they push me on the ropes
Out the rang
I visualize aims to han-dle pain
Tryna grow gains
Sportin 88 dopeman gold chains
So no way killa your ambition is null
Listen you will be another charred grimacin skull.