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slade - the kid lyrics

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[intro]

yeah

[verse 1]

microphone check: 1, 2 when i want to (one two)
three or four – kick in the door grab the microphone testin’
spitting more greek than a salad
i’m a hazardous type of mannequin –
type of man that can spit without saying words
you heard a sentence in sign language and verse

the first word wish i had versed was:
“i am” the kid that turned paper to rock
plus that rock scissoring –
you’re getting scars blocking, bickering ‘stop’

i’m a hardbody – picture my knock
as if the great wall had a premonition thinking:
‘how do i stop him? he’s not thin. neither is he fat, he’s a jock. he’s the kid that cuts water in blocks’
before the ice
i see me
as a mind-muscle muzzling many
you tried to speak, i hear you mumbling plenty

i’m in kby turning prisons to molten steel
my words burn bars above a thousand-four degrees
getting hot when i breathe

spring allergies – n-gg-s jump when i sneeze

i’m the answering machine when they call in for ‘murder in rap’
my murder sk!ll in tact in fact

i’m the kid you’re on the lookout for when the newcomers rap
the new hardest gat, i spit a black
as if the color was a shot and the coloring is hot (sheesh!)

i’m a hot beast – a mobb deep
and if you’re shook, then i can mind-read
and if you’d look, then i can blind-read:
blind-lead facetious phonies to the freeze with god speed

-sound of wind blowing-

antarctic feed:
telling me that my prisoners of war freezing
and they wanted to leave

and i told them to arrange in a crime order like a con-sequence
my conscience is a tickling machine
when it tickles, it would mean to ignore:
shut my big jaw about the phonies in the south pole abroad
keep it ‘buried and cl-ssified’
like c-i-a
n-gg- stop the horseplay, july p-ssed

[hook: x2]

p-ss the gun, i mean ‘mic’
pastor run, you need life
i’m airborne, you need fights
get the temperature machine when you need to breathe, kid
please believe, kid
i’m hot sauce, i’m mean, kid

[verse 2]

microphone check: 1, 2 when i wanted to do it
(guess what?)
and ‘nam the kid who did it
’cause i’m fitted with napalm
lyrically blaze calm
i brainstorm harm to your heart
i’m a hardcore artist
’cause i’m beating with the hardest, kid
i’m the hardest, kid. [or “the hardest kid”]

if you can bar this:

i’m the sharpest
already harvested
the part where your heart is
and targeted
where you’re headed
to where your head is:
about to be headless!

and it depends if you respect this
my checklist jar filling to the brim

i’m the kid grim reaping
you’re heaving
your breathing’s getting thin

and i don’t litter i just drop names

don’t give a flame –
i just take aim, then throw the flames

y’all are pen-k!lling rappers
with a penicillin life-span standing in the sun, man

time to make the penny-k!lling change
paper coming
now my pennies feeling strange
y’all are petty-looking strangers

[hook: x2]

p-ss the gun, i mean ‘mic’
pastor run, you need life
i’m airborne, you need fights
get the temperature machine when you need to breathe, kid
please believe, kid
i’m hot sauce, i’m mean, kid

[outro]

(mic
guess what?
gun, mic.)

- slade lyrics

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