Lyrics
Coming off the head
ain't no rehearsing
You can't fuck with them abstract verses
What up? What up Saint? Yo, Renegade
The golden era now, the renaissance
I made this beat back in 22, back before I had any inner peace or an interview
Growing up, they treated me like the lead on A typical
Now I'm running circles around they ass, it's elliptical
Pass your ma the receipt on how the love came reciprocal
Can't fucking believe my ass was thinking about quitting before it
Took one college semester just to figure that it wasn't for me
Found anything not musical don't strike chords for surely
Smokin endo just to bond with my mentors. Ain't nobody ever told me I belong before
That moment crossed some shit off my list that I can't even lie I was longing for
Help me let most of my insecurities go. Young participants don't stop when they
take the trophies home
Spaced out cowboys ain't doing no do-si-do
Courtesy of the sun shakers plus the philosophers stoned
What up? What up
Futurist futuristic futurist lyricist
Yeah, said fuck reality checks I live in abstract
Abstain from people who obstruct, I'm absent
Slurring all my words like I'm cursed with a shot of absinthe
I'm adding back my accent
Trip dawg but I still listen to Abs tracks
Like snipers y'all ain't close and that's not even by a long shot
When it comes to packed lyrics, something that they don't got
I'mma be here spinning forever like a DJ stuck in an era (era)
Break apart my kush so I can bring it together
Say less, I'll keep my two cents
I'll be saving it for a rainy day
I'm on cloud 99, they be taking the safest way
This ain't basketball, I can't take my shot and then fade away
Cuz me leaving the underground is a grave mistake
So what you say? Is you all in or stalling
Cause ain't no dividing or separating from me and divine calling
This is art, the pen or the sword, which one are you drawing?
The studio I'm locked in, and sounding like a Mac 10
It's Malik. You already know what time it is
I'm trying to stack this bread. I'm tired of distractions
Don't tell me about the gossip, I don't care about what happened
Trust me information is not where I'm lacking
You putting on a show, now my niggas standing clapping
Standing ovation, I won't do anything to damage my reputation
Cause I'm good in your hood, my hood and all of the places
That won't be changing the dollars we chasing
Ain't as important as the dollars we saving
Fuck it man, I'm trying to fly to the Caymans
While y'all look at your new song, like you discover fire like cavemen
Don't you feel the walls caving in
Big stepper Malik, he just came in
And he came to make a motherfucking statement
I'm a God past the criticism, don't hear your hate man
Usher in a new wave, you thought it was apostle
I said my grace fam
Church
It's renegade
Uh abstract minded
Masterpiece from the grind up way I design it
Diamonds out of pebbles in a way that refine it
Everyday I'm guided by my inner spark with it
I summon a storm that strikes down the wicked
I've scribed and revised the elder scrolls
With the power that would make the dragons fold
You wanna know, current host of will of fire
Which embodies pushing through pain for true desire
No pupil, those who claim are all liars
Strike, fright, genes ignite
In the middle of night
That's right don't speak on my name
These lames spin my tracks so you know I'm with the facts
Let the kettle drip off the needle
So you know that it's ready on wax
Nigga, uh
On the flow man, it's hip-hop shit
It's a preservation
Cause when i cook it when I'm on the flow
They don't even know, that's how i spit it so phenomenal
Dotted rows, domino
Now I really gotta go!
Now I really feel like Mario
Don't need a mushroom to know
I really gotta Grow
I gotta show, a lotta flow
Now I really be spittin on the audio!
You ain't really move like a vato
Improper! You know they vamonos
Everytime I really gon' spit it
That's when I really Talk to your Ghost!
After your corpse has risen
Everytime I really spit it
Y'all ready know, i'm on point
It's just the Torches Vision
Yeah, Pass Da Torch
The Massive Force
The Fans Endorse!
Now, they watchin' the highlights
I write, back and forth
On the Actual Live Screen
Like Classic Sports
Rewind! Now we really spit it man
We Rise, to the o-cassion [occasion]
The Flow Blazin' -- We Do It!
On the Microphone, that's how i Rock
Like Fifty, 50, 50 Sense/Cents
I really make the, uh Sum Up!
To a Young Buck
Because in the bank account
Yeah, I get the G's in a Unit
Yeah! Im talkin' more than 50 G's
Everytime I spit it man
Lit up like a Christmas tree
Now I do it officially
Now, i'm really flippin me
Carvin' my mark man
Kinda like couples In a tree bark
Initially!
Now i really be spittin G
Flippin' me
Now I really rock it
With the Big Pun delivery enters Me
Rappers are you kidding me?
Ripping you in Calligraphy
Dead in the middle of little Italy
Literally
Splittin' Thee
How I'm really gon' rock
When I'm spittin G
I'm Inferno
Burn the mic to the fifth Degree
Literally we rip the scheme
WRITERS
Michael Inferno, Juvan Cesaire, Malik Scott, Tiago Santos, Michael Powell, Theodore Roebuck
PUBLISHERS
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
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