Lyrics:
Just know I'll see you though
Someday, one day
For now London
I'm leaving you
The calendar says it's time to go now
Well tomorrow, you ready
Not even
[intro: babyface fensta, (sha-cronz), ]
*echo*
(these punk-ass niggaz, they ain't ready)
(we made men, haha!)
ain't no set ride for me
So I ain't trippin' off no set
I'm bout money
D-O-E, cream is my thing
I got my mug-oning when I hit the scene
Let my
ready I'm just too much
When I was young my mamma said I used to cuss too much
If I ain't known you twenty years I don't trust you much
Roll with
questions that need answers and you keeping me guessing
On whether or not you really ready or just secretly flexing
Messing with my head
Can’t tell if you up
of town
Eight hours out triple price on the pound
He said let's do it
Built the system from the ground Moved and set out all forth made it count
Really
At the hour of twelve at night
Who should I meet but the Spanish lady
Washing her feet by the candlelight
First she washed them, then she dried them
Over
that's critical.
I set the pace and whenever ready, delivered gold
This is a thank you for everything you've given, though
Sorry, I kept you waiting.
and gone
On its way, atomic toys
Leaving us with no actual choice
Ready, set - T minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one
exceptions
Marked like a bounty by haters soft as bounty
Calmly entered counties in scenes like Robert Downey *Junior*
Layers surround me, strapped
the eyes of the blind,
They lack vision
Work, eat, sleep, wake, repeat
8 by 5 by countless weeks
Coffee, copies, floppies, faxes
Troubles, traffic,
Mayday!
Born in the flood
Bloody fingerprint sets
Black marketed fresh
Water canons forget me not
Epitaph airbrush with death
White t's
Wife beaters
Smashed her head so hard against the ground
She was unconscious for days
Passers by stop to witness the torture
While she stamped on the head
And then I go home, to a mothafuckin' eight hundred dollar apartment
Nigga that shit is trash
It's ya boy Zini
Ya know what I'm sayin', professional
South Klique
What you wanna do bitch throwing up my set
Infrareds to your chest with a mess
Now stop you drop, like sweat it out my face
What killas want
Committin' homicide (yeah)
1-8-7 ride-by
And if I'm off to another hood dippin' and crippin'
Set trippin'
Bound to catch a Slob slippin' (CaRIPS!!!)
Gun
(Deathstar!) (x8)
And you know that we got it (Deathstar!) (fades)
Luke get your ass over here right now
Stop monkeying around with that damn landspeeder
Where
to shine!
But I'm ready to give everything to benefit and give a set of kids a feeling like
I got when I was given my first cassette after I settled in
the mic and I'm the cockiest
Ever motherfucker that you've ever met
But after the set i'm humble
Ready to rumble no we never
Stumble cause we 'bout it
our sets high
You can pick apart my rhymes always keep them in supply
I wrote this in the dark
My shadow boxing punch lines
Go on take your best shot be
heat
I don't know, get the dough, I'ma get it just for show
You think that you blow, ain't ready for the smoke
Need to see my bank got like seven, eight
Don't wait til the battles over shout now
Getting ready for a praise break countdown
Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight
Anyone one can shout
But
golf the only time I'd ever be sub par
This shit remind me of the ninety-eight Chicago Bulls intro
From the first few notes you should know what you in
(Yawn)
Ohh Wee
$Lim
Alarm set for 8 AM
But up since 6:30
Ain't got no place to be
So why am I up sooo early
For sure I got time
No need to be in
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