120 bars deep - ese 40'z lyrics
i said empty your mind
be formless shapeless
like water
it’s not an easy sk!ll to learn
i’ve been practicing it for many years
i grab the mic ripping through hitting notes on every cord
flaming blunts and drinking brew double edging on my sword
i be the one with tunnel vision insomniac livin’
funneling decisions through a 40 keeps me driven
to a gang life style “chuck t’s” with the “ben d’s”
white “cortez” and i fat lace my “nikees”
chillin’ like a villain psycho cerebellum
starin’ at the ceiling catch these flows while i spеll um
e*s*e*4 oh then apostrophe
thowin up the “s” oh yеs so it’s gotta be
the e*s*e foe*dee ounce with a wicked flow
we stress free “t*town” when i hit the dro
slow my heart rate but i be quick on the reflex
got no time for half bred parvo lookin’ rejects
shaolin beat that i’m wreckin’ for the street
with the world in one hand and the other’s packin’ heat
the fundamental triple “b” got the bud, brew, and b*tches
razor blade mentally a buck fifty with the stitches
on the face of the rap game drop another track flame
burning through the airwaves rock solid crack slang
slangin’ truth into lyrics steady slaughterin’ a metaphor
hate proof my spirit with a project yall ain’t ready for
hittin’ switches through these rhymes like i’m dippin’ in a low low
sick and twisted minds jumpin’ lines like a pogo
stick to the m*th*f*ckin’ realest on my mental notes
kickin’ ghetto lyrics on the illest instrumental flows
straight from the block with the poverty and grime
penitentiary cages on the robbery of time
no rewind on my clock so i’m shootin’ towards the future
early in the morning with cocaine as my rooster
to wake me up and sound off scoop another mound off
lace it in a blunt sticky skunk to make a clown cough
pisto in my ice tea haters lookin’ shiesty
sack chasin’ b*tches on the creep actin feisty
dip through the streets with my bald headed felons
razor to the skin then hit the wind with my pelons
off in the streets well i really mean the beast
belly of a f*ckin’ demon meth addicted ain’t no peace
in my area five oh five was original
so i never switched it up the numbers for this criminal
i come gunnin’ with these verses show you where the dirt is
deep in the slums with the clowns at the circus
take you through the zoo where they got every type of animal
tokin’ on glass pipes tweekin’ up on mechanical appliances
reconfigure what the science is
once enemies and now they smokin’ like alliances
slicin’ through your speakers cut sh*t up like a samurai
projectile style c*ck it back and let the hammer fly
f*ck a punk snitch nine double one dialin’
when they see the trouble run world’s smallest violin
playing in the background when they plea bargainin’
weed’s getting hacked down time to do the gardenin’
d*mn f*ck the bars
how many pages i got left on this sh*t?
connectin’ rhymes with a quickness vocabulary fitness
infiltrate the structure and infect um with the sickness
crease my “frisco’s” f*b with two pistols
holstered on my waist “chuck t’s” laced the list goes
on and on and on while i’m starin’ through my loccs
bandana hangin’ down from my back pocket hope
that i see another day through the thick of my conflicts
and not another chain gang trip with the convicts
dreamin’ big with the raps as i fascinate what fame tells
tilt the forty back and go assassinate my brain cells
cloudy premonitions in my mind about the outcome
rowdy drunken missions on the grind talkin’ bout some
b*tches for the night wreckin’ hoes and i’m k!llin this
riches that i write weapon flow psycho villainous
cuz i’m the lyrical drinkin’ hundred proof let my spirits flow
six percocets and an eighth of the miracle
mystical medical marijuana let it glow
when i spark this in the darkness flashin’ up the catchable
flame out the light uh reign the empire
in the rap game with the fame i desire
and this is my dream while i’m driftin’ through the slums
trailer parks and project porches dirty money, drugs, and guns
till opportunity approaches k!llin’ off the roaches
feds throwin’ raids takin’ orders from their coaches
but f*ck the jura cuz we gotta stay trucha
labs in my town cookin’ batches of the bruja
pushin’ out through the calles what be the epidemic?
glass plague in the valle oil burner as the gimmick
skeleton trend set uh c*ck that “beretta”
cold in these streets better grab ya self a sweat uh
better yet a jacket they frozen off the sack lit
ampin’ out psychosis thirty dirty hits of smack sh*t
that be my world when i return to the beast
and chill with the homies in the place where there’s no peace
i’m in the zone with the warriors “south side academy”
gladiator school we learned assault, rage, and battery
on our opponents life and death moments
gathering the hate that i’ve collected and i’ve known since
i was a little youngsta thuggin’ i was once uh
skinny little vato on the calles smokin’ blunts up
but now i’m twenty seven years old far from a veteran
triple o*g with the “olde english” letterin’
a buck twenty bars strong comin’ out the wood work
ghetto tale song nice and long to make the hood smirk
i keep droppin’ these lines spitting verses is my nature
last page on the grind twenty four up on the paper
getting praised for my flows but i don’t need a witness
targets on a wila hard pez up on the hit list
menace to society k!llin’ off sobriety
drunk up on the creep about to hit um all so quietly
blitz on the front line military tactics
shotgun stunt time buck um into back flips
and if you’re rollin’ through my area it’s desert land subliminal
cinco cero cinco with a drug that be identical
to broken wind shields or hands full uh quartz rock
meth drug deals but i’m the one who still snorts chalk
up in my zone double up like a clone
a beast in the jungle with the strongest pheromone
reppin’ out the “pecos” valle wanna take this
to another level “eddy county” with the make shift
lab tech chemists cookin’ up the business
bad breath menace always lookin’ for the finished
product on the line molecular design
blasting fifty units deep into the center of their mind
now the times are finished up on the last of a dying breed
chillin’ on the block slangin’ crack people buying weed
on the last note sailing high in a glass boat
be my surroundings drifting by looking past dope
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