lirik lagu watch this – maxx 39
[maxx 39]
true signs, clues and riddles, what you do is little
i spit hard and hot like cruising missiles, your crew is simple
my father’s a don, talked me into the nice life
we run triz nain, but only hold hands with the wife types
i can show what the mics like, write with right hands, i mean i might type
flavours like my grandmothers white rice, i love life
mics and weed is what my devices be
if you ain’t spitting in our cipher, you are really not nice to me
quit acting like you sold grams, son you know the program
f-ck your corny slow jams, you don’t want beef, we go ham
word to my old man, scientific matters match
add patterns, lyrical hardy boys in a ladder match
you washed up like sea sh-lls and sand crabs
didn’t think i had punch lines because my hand jabs
to be specific, i reap the wicked, speak and kick it
like the old joker with lakers season tickets…jack swag
[shomari choike/figgy fraser]
he was four days away from signing, about four plays away from diamond on dat piff
caz’ the sh-t he was spitting was so lyrical, original, keeping a grip it was so difficult
bad b-tches on him, telephoning to the morning, talking ‘bout how they could see it, before they ain’t believe it
thought it was a myth, he was always on some other sh-t
talking bout how he had more power than the government
now you defied the const-tution, in the highest resolution, you the last prime solution
and i’m tryna make it add up, a little contribution
a little demonstration girl show me how you do it
he wasn’t with the childish games see he was grown
making sure the bills was paid up in the home
single mother raised him, along with the hood
a little home training started making statements
got up on his grind then he got up out the bas-m-nt
never wasted time and he never got complacent
[maxx 39]
four corners, armed cars, with burners in em
the oven boys chased us, cuz we wasn’t concerned with prison
i leaned division, earned description
those dirty birds turned and missed em, i learned to diss em
yo, who would’ve known that my songs, would pound loud
who knew the black market would do numbers, through sound cloud
who knew the microphone would come to own us
who knew the holy book of rhyme would have 100 owners
[shomari choike/figgy fraser]
creative prerequisites, figgy be the dedicate
severing comp, while you still slanging sediments
veteran of purgatory, blunted with the visionaries
dilated pupils bumping dilated peoples
grind till i’m an equal, eventually superior
high up on the steeple, preaching truth unto my people
failed attempts to read you, you couldn’t peep the sequel in
imax, i find raps of way past to surp-ss your thought path to you and your bird bath, n-gga
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