Lyrics
Hip hop is alive and well, motherfucker
It ain’t that hard to tell
Cause I excel and I prevail
I come to the spot and I Rock The Bells
I’m Raising Hell, License To Ill
Chop a boutique with a Righteous Kill
Write rhymes with red ink, my life is real
Command any beat, my deal is
I’m in the go, rip in they flow
With Machine Gun Funk my pen will blow
I bob and weave, I’m dodging jabs
I’m counting the punch, I count the math
And I might whip a nine out a four and a half
Rap the mic, kick a rhyme, throw a of cash
Might make it rain, might pop champagne
While the crowd jumps around like the House Of Pain, yeah
A lot of rappers they claim they real
When the things pop off they chill they chill
A lot of rappers they claim they hard
But see my goons in the streets they like: «oh my god»
A lot of rappers they claim they real
When the things pop off they chill they chill
A lot of rappers they claim they hard
But see my goons in the streets they like: «oh my god»
Hip hop is alive and well, motherfucker
It ain’t that *hard to tell*
I rock the boat cause I’ve been dope
Since I was posted on the block with the cookies
Razor under my tongue, in my lungs
Hot as and West Side be where I’m from
Master eat their young, I got a thirst for beef
Ain’t a MC that wanna see me in the streets
Every Source Magazine or Rap Pages I cop
Every XXL reaching the top
I’m cream in the crop, underground no pop
This is my way of life so the flow don’t stop
'Til the casket drops, ain’t no more bills
Tombstone will read Awon was ill
I got Mass Appeal, I Midnight Maraude
Cause it’s Hard To Earn in the city of God, yeah
A lot of rappers they claim they real
When the things pop off they chill they chill (yeah)
A lot of rappers they claim they hard
But see my goons in the streets they like: «oh my god» (yeah)
A lot of rappers they claim they real
When the things pop off they chill they chill (yeah)
A lot of rappers they claim they hard
But see my goons in the streets they like: «oh my god»
Hip hop is alive and well, motherfucker
It ain’t that *hard to tell*
I’m the epitome of MC
Give me a banging jeep fuck your Bentley
Because I want my shit to bump, rattle trunks and get noise violations
Cruising through the city my flow is education
I bombed at a nation, my mind is a weapon
When I’m on the grind in a 757
You rap for a living, hip hop is my chant
And if I fall off I got more Base than Rob
And It Takes Two to make a thing go right
And yes, baking soda brings back the white, nigguh