lirik lagu you know my steez – j-raw
verse one
yo lemme start it off
the god is raw
watch the art like an audamor
call it on
as i’m talking on
and on, i’m walking off like i hit a home run in the 9th inning, don’t judge before the beginning, because i move faster than the speed of light, as a rapper i’m payed to read my rhymes, with such st–z to get much cheese, the front page to me, don’t mean you the dopest mc, in new york city, we turn up the dial, with them old school beats, play it super loud
to get us wild for a while, especially from the cl-ssic dj preem, and with my raps i found a way to
create st–z
and there’s no way you can see
well maybe if you
keep a keen ear to hear the
great recipe
i put every last breath in me
flow steadily
make the own destiny
prepared for anything necessary
i never be scared, forever be legendary
not like many, keep the real ident-ty, even to an enemy, and always be there say rest in peace, and know nothing ever dies really
life continues through the memory, that very energy is my st–z, and now you know
verse two
aii
you know it now it’s not a secret like the illuminati, and now you think im who, khadafi?
i don’t got that much property, but i spit the sh-t to make ya head bopping g, never stop the beat, not going for economy, but i’m spitting mathetics like trigonometry, to get in your psychology, properly, don’t try to copy me, cuz i karate chop beats
probably i gotta be, a lottery winner
cuz i’m so blessed wit a lyrical armory so
nothing is possibly stopping me
from getting hip hop back to the 90s
it’s not in me to be a wack mc
i ain’t mobb deep but i wreck havoc as a prodigy, know what i mean?
i ain’t lacking dope, i k!ll the fake, i eliminate it at sight, 3 times like i k!lled that snake n his past life, i rap tight, get baptized by my holy spit, holy sh-t, only this rhyme
can change the shift of the universe
when i move the words
i move the world
feel me, that’s my st–z. baby
verse three
i’m a god d-mn god
like rakim allah
so everything is extremely easy
see these cds
receding mcs like the hair line of lebron
it’s an air line when i’m on
the microphone, cuz im fly on it
bionic, cionic firing empires on it
like im a roman, put the dough in
and i’m flowing like an ocean so
call me
poseidon, every single time i’m rhyming i’m getting harder, cutting it like a barber, i mean the melodies
and i don’t need the army armor, or armory
i got the problem solver on me
that’s the m.i.c, and i use it as a
revolver revolving underwatery sees, i gotta be a g, cuz my mic breathes the smartest of philosophies, i beat monopolies
with my flow as geology
part of theology, as long as i’m on a beat i will body these pet-te critiques
of us real mcs
the heart can’t be beat, but it will always beat, to the sleek streets, of nyc or the east, so even the concrete can know the st–z, and i say peace
r.i.p
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