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specifics - fresh lyrics

its the rougher
rhymer slash hustler subscriber
i stumble from under covers to plain clothes by the time
most other folks luncheon
my line of work don’t require nothing like punching the clock
i talk right off top, mic’ed, on topic or all live
im trying to find a spot in the tropic
come off it, nah truly
this shit is like rap video shoot without the total treats
unique the way he rips any kind of paper
do his duty to confine the data from a faker
plagiarizer please take a skydeezy from a scr-per
im fiending for the cherry vapor
very high
carry my merry men to the airy sky valkyries prepare to die
or however you pronounce it, ive been in areas with hairy ounces
buried in some coffee grounds
when he go to get a cup of joe, get astounded
think i seen a pound of green in the folger’s brown
so you found it
better go to town and start breaking up, i’m saying son
baking is the best park of waking up

the business
need to ship it, dip it in some folger’s
even the most cultured doberman couldn’t sniff it
they missed it
well heck, i’m liking this system
smells fresh, exciting
its so exciting to me

(coates)
yo two seven percent forties are the irish jetpacks
and my incredible hulk innards will fight setbacks
mount really where cold winters are froze stiller
icicles in his speech homie im mad chiller
when he cam to the fork in the road, headed straight to the space whip
birds eye view of the prose, rhymes like a lightbulb with no switch
scratch every january holding no chips
puffy coates is a herbalist on a mission to make weed immediately
thought he was a journalist, so blitzed
must have put the stash in the folgers
supernova sighting on the couch in a coma
if i don’t get some fuckin vitamin d sippin the grey sky
heineken where is the sky hiding at
and for the dust on my mpc lets make em envy

sunset rider train level boss pistol dueling
slick rolling dive behind boxes while im shooting
both hands drooling fat yellow slugs slow movement
laid back coolin on the track metal slug music
batter up for x factor, who’s in it for the chedder only when they need
to use it
and which crew’s got my back now from the ruthless ruin of the
stackhound
boot it up the cut with the cracked valve cooing
sounding like cats and the racc–ns scr-pping out back of old shacks
on the mountian
cut me slack or be found in the fountain
let the track breathe
get to howling

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