East Coast Renaissance E

Yeah. That New York boom bap is back in your Area. Uh. Uh-huh. Thorough track banging in your ear. Uh. Whoa. The Closes. Uh, let him push up. Uh-huh. Yo. My chest look like a tank. My future's so bright, but I don't need no Shades. I'm watching everybody eyes, I ain't tryna Get played. Uh-huh. Watching everybody hands, I ain't tryna get slayed. What? All you niggas think I'm pussy, then you All get sprayed. I pinpoint, thoughts are accurate with the Ballpoint. I'm old school, I writes, but it's like A stick of dynamite. The blow up's my only Option, taking my section with me. So fly in the wears of Crispy. Uh-huh. Behind every 50 there's a VO. For those that know, I had no other choice But to grow. My name's gon' be written on The walls of time in graffiti and motherfuckers gon' Respect mine. They think 'cause I used to live In Teaneck that I won't twist they neck. What? That I won't cock the hammer. And bang on they set. Uh-huh. Well, I'm a foul bounty hunter like Boba Fett. They put that price on your head, homie, I'm gon' collect. Collect. This shit is laser, Shabam should be Red Eyein' Tracks. Labels wanna get down, gon' have to cut A check. Uh. 'Cause that slave shit went out With Bush. Uh-huh. And I'm punching label execs that Don't get pushed. What? Blackball me, fuck it, I make my money off of kush. And keep rappers in check like a Nike swoosh. I fell back long enough, motherfucker, the game owe Me. Owe me. You stay running your cock holster, But you don't know me. My poetry painting pictures, Call me Picasso. As far as rap go, it's Only natural I explain. I gotta eat, so it's back to these fucking Streets. My mic check one, two, get me higher Than Guts do. My poetry painting pictures, Call me Picasso. As far as rap go, it's Only natural I explain. I gotta eat, so it's back to these fucking Streets. Yo, Rex. Check. walk fine line playing with Mine. Yeah, Motherfucker, listen here so it's clear. The Closes is rocking with me, hoes is shaking In they boots. Invisible bullies to me, Posers. Oh, just soak up your last bit of Dignity left. R-E-K-S ain't for riffing. I'm mortician, eat fish and flow glisten. Rhymes shine, I'm designed different. Columbine diction, which means I'm taking y'all to School for the last time. Blast rhyme, tongue a gun. Number one, half mine militant, other one slashed. Two glass half full, pessimistic asshole. Rap so wrap you in raptures, lasso masterful Metaphors, mash you. Fuck a we, this a W For II. Stutter but in hi-fi, utter visual lyricals. Bye bye to pitiful suckers. I'm a syllable rush of adrenaline. Save the racket for Wimbledon. I said it, Shabam and Red Eye can finish It. My poetry painting pictures, call me Picasso. As far as rap go, it's only natural I Explain. I gotta eat, so it's back to these Fucking streets. My mic check one, two, Get me higher than Guts My poetry painting pictures, Call me Picasso. As far as rap go, it's Only natural I explain. I gotta eat, so it's back to these fucking Streets. You walk a fine line playing with mine. Mine. And y'all don't know me neither, I spit Only ether. Red Eye drop bombs like a wide Receiver. No two-hand touch, pitty-pat, This is gritty rap. Return of the rotten, I'm tryna bring my city back. Straight out the O with a New York state Of mind. Got Queens in my veins, King is My bloodline. Destined to shine more than two suns Combined. I'm uncloneable, I'm one of a kind. My poetry's deep, I drop gems, something divine. The Fay Dora hip hop, the way I fight For the pride. The Closes, baby, we back for The first time. Recognize, keep weapons high as I Step inside. The arena of death, we fresh, The best alive. You can bring the extra guys To war, we the Holocaust Westernized. So hold that, I'm with Rex sipping cognac. And I go skin a veteran and wear him As a throwback, nigga. My poetry painting pictures, call me Picasso. As far as rap go, it's only natural I Explain. I gotta eat, so it's back to these Fucking streets. My mic check one, two, Get me higher than Guts do. My poetry painting Pictures, call me Picasso. As far as rap go, it's only natural I Explain. I gotta eat, so it's back to these Fucking streets. You walk a fine line playing with Mine. Mine