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styles (bonus buds) [clean] - sop (smoked out productions) lyrics

sop (smoked out productions) * “styles”
[emcee(s): problemz, agony (aka fp), black attack, and stress]
[producer(s): sop (smoked out productions)]
[sample 1 (drums): parliament * “come in out of the rain” (0:03)]
[sample 2 (drums): funkadelic * “you’ll like it too” (0:02)]

[hook: problemz]
never before in this century has there been an emcee
or should i say this industry?—that can comprehend with me
never before in this century has there been an emcee
or should i say this industry?—that can comprehend with me

[verse 1: problemz]
1995, but i gets hotter than 97. whenever
i spark up an l, i start to yell like the reverend and be
screaming on n*ggas, catching the holy ghost and the whole nine
revoking their emcee licenses and locking ‘em down like po*9
i possess the lyrical powers that make you stop, look, and listen
if rap was a religion, i’d be preaching buddhism
sparking lethal with my people, studying lessons while
conniving emcees who commit sins count their blessings
my thoughts be deeper than the scriptures in the quran, my
delivery is explosive like firearms in brooknam
never before in this century has there been an emcee
or should i say this industry?—that can comprehend with me
and that’s the reason they call me problemz. it’s harder than granite
to understand it—therefore, n*ggas can’t solve him
my flow can be best described as slippery
but my delivery be agonizing like misery
i rhyme excessively and endlessly ‘cause i’m sentenced
to a life of rap like convicts in the penitentiary—what?!?
represent. yeah
[verse 2: agony (aka fp)]
i flow on tracks to let you know what’s up
the f*to*the*p keeping it corrupt, waking up
in the morning for the taste of smoke
i’m out, making moves to cop some choke
i head uptown, where all my peeps get down, traveling
down low through the underground, many
stories are told and many dreams are sold
so i stay awake, carrying a heavy load
ready to explode what deep inside
exposed in the rhyme through every line. take a trip
in the mind, get lost in the thought
escape in a verse so i won’t get caught
the sketches presented artistical, even*
*tualilty expressed lyrical
based on a true story, everything’s real, non*
*fiction transmissions on the reel*to*reel

[verse 3: black attack]
i said it go like:
one for the smoke and two for the hash. black attack
i represent them big n*ggas with the cash. now, son
how we do this? spark up the l and let me flip this
put a million up, and i bet, double*or*nothing, i’m ‘bout to rip this
that’ll leave you broken, yo. stop selling crack, start selling nickel*bags
of sean black and twenty*bags of black attack. you
were smoking, but the flavor made you stop that, and now i see
your buddha*head friends going ten*ten to cop that
so who got the white owls to roll up this flow? oh, you ain’t know?
you got to inhale this black attack real slow ‘cause i ain’t
trash. i’m lethal, i’m rawer than smoke. my lyrical
texture blows your chest up—oh no, that’s no joke. yo, word
is bond. if rap was a sandwich, i’d the mayo
and i’m bouncing on n*ggas like chichi bounced with the yayo
so, ayyo, all them wack n*ggas? i think they broke out
‘cause before i hit the ill sh*t, i hit the l and blow the smoke out
this an sop thing, so recognize when my
brain get crooked like eyes from puffing on lye
[verse 4: stress]
i’m representing
this for my peeps only up on the flav’, who know the
difference between that b*tter and that fake parkay. it’s that
ill n*gga stress, that sop flow. if you
smoking garbage, i must let you know i wasn’t
fronting before and ain’t about to start
so look for the sop sticker trademark. if it’s
up in your spot, you know that it’s lethal
if not, break out and tell all your peoples fronting
all this time that they need to stop. a real
n*gga like stress, yo, never gave them props—sh*t
i toss their tape in the pile marked “fake”
plus that wack smoke you had gave me a headache, f*cking
up my high, telling me them lies. ayyo
problemz, now i’m asking, “why, oh why
is they even trying to front on me?”
i rest uptown, i roll with sop, i represent
the stress as i crusaded. to all my
n*ggas that’s nice and, yo, still haven’t made it

- sop smoked out productions lyrics

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