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rok one - ninety degrees a piece (street) lyrics

rok one ft. shabaam sahdeeq, kwest tha madd lad, and l-f-dg- – “ninety degrees a piece”
[emcee(s): shabaam sahdeeq, kwest tha madd lad, l-f-dg-, and rok one]
[producer(s): scr-ppy]

[intro: rok one and kwest tha madd lad]
rok one: uh. yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
kwest tha madd lad: rok one
rok one: what, what, what, what, what? uh
kwest tha madd lad: nice, nice

[bridge: rok one]
check it out. for all you herbs and you wack kids
got something to keep your brain cells active
kwest, shabaam sahdeeq
l-f-dg-, rok one, yo

[hook: kwest tha madd lad and rok one] (x2)
wackness cease. time for real verbal release
four emcees split the cypher ninety degrees a piece
add it up, the total sum is 360. sahdeeq, kwest
f-dg-, and rok one are making emcee history

[verse 1: shabaam sahdeeq]
some cats’
egos be tripping ‘em up. i’m ripping ‘em up
fitting to bust routines like cold crush
pain like an elephant tusk jigging your gut
ice-grill all you want. sahdeeq don’t front
bring your rights to the table, serving it out for lunch
can’t forget the knives and forks and the hawaiian punch
it’s on like shades in the morn’, blazing ‘em all
holding my b-lls, rocking a crowd while you’re holding a wall
s-double busting your bubble, stay humble
while the rest fumble and watch their foundation crumble
sketch wild, taking over town-by-town
profound sound—no more history made now
they’re sorbet while i sever like swordplay
smash like sonny bono on skis on his last day
drink ‘zé low-down like ashtrays
purple haze, hot ‘til my last breath

[verse 2: kwest tha madd lad]
let me at ‘em
i’ll splatter with verbal ammo, god, let off such a barrage
when i hear (“charge!”), my tongue should be coated in camouflage (you hold)
(t-tles for ripping recitals?) i’m taking a vibe, die lost or by force
to levitate back up on my high horse. these
so-called hot emcees freeze when apply frost
wouldn’t be lucky enough to touch with fingers, toes, legs, and eyes crossed
in battles, i use (spit) methods, (ripping faces) in (split seconds)
[?] doug e. fresh and sl!ck rick [?]
velociraptor disguised as a rapper, trained to track
trap, attack, and snap the backs of you wacker b-st-rds
we’re always at war, so [?] don’t slack off
metamorphic to a batter, taxing a rapper who’s down to sn-tch ya
[?] can’t get with
do it through fluid ‘cause biters can’t see t–th and liquid
will rappers be divine? who will shine? f-ck time—the rhymes tell
through use of mind, i can see you’re about nothing like seinfeld

[verse 3: l-f-dg-]
yo, i’m seeing
my life in front of my eyes—i have a problem. my heart was once
thriving ‘til i had a wooden stake get lodged in
my chest, but then i pulled it out and used blood to help me fill out
doc-ments for the devil. i’m only one of h-ll’s
occupants who didn’t settle with the arrangement, so i took this
sh-t over, marked my territory with my fragrance
sustained sh-t, kept a miscorrect form and maintained it
took all four letters as part of the word “h-ll” and rearranged it
made it “ehll”—that’s e-h-l-l now—hear what i said?
it’s dominican, it’s like indian spears to the head. words is
deeper than the ones in the paragraphs shakespeare read
make b-boys break ‘til their taillights get red. you win
as an emcee? it’s nasty as a girl swallowing. i’m part of
the aquamen, and doing liquid flows with no need of oxygen
[?] scuba diving [?]
rappers is jenga—i’m either dropping ‘em or topping ‘em

[verse 4: rok one]
clever
with grammar, i’ll put words together in an intelligent manner
step to this and get sh-tted on like an american standard
quick to diss crews, my outer sh-ll’s too thick to rip through. you claim
you let off like a 9? i’ll grab your flow and pistol-whip you. you couldn’t
holding a f-cking candle to my speech, try and bite acidic
rhymes enough to wear out the enamel on your t–th. i smell
arson, but an emcee’s life leaves during l-sparking
battling me is hard like getting a bl-wj-b while parallel-parking
cold-blooded, my temperature rarely increases
if i die, i’ll resurrect myself—call me “alien jesus”
i devised a floorplan, the architect. you’re just a doorman
me and my brain think so fast that i gotta write my rhymes in shorthand
style is off the meters. you better step like an orthopedist
you can’t emcee and got less clout than an aborted fetus
get out of line and i’ll be seeing you after the show
i’ll bring it to my foes raw-dog like korean (yo, yo, yo)

[bridge: hook adlibs]

[outro: l-f-dg- and kwest tha madd lad]
l-f-dg-: my mother linea rosario
kwest tha madd lad: aight. i want to say, “what’s up?” to my baby moms. you know you you is. word up, word up. aight?

- rok one lyrics

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