Lyrics:
the drum
He was in a class
By himself, by gum!
Poor Johnny one-note
Got in Aida
Indeed a great chance to be brave
He took his one note
Howled like
(yes)
It's like that man, it's like that (yes)
Check it
I'm not your average MC with the Joe Schmoe flow
If you don't know me by now, you'll never
a class, by himself, by gum
Poor Johnny one note got in Aida
Indeed a great chance to be brave
He took his one note, howled like the north wind
Brought
a critic's got it rough
And you're a real king mixer but it's my train mister
If you think that's all I've got
Well, you'll be beaten on down by Mersey sound
Rappers wanna stop me pop me drop me
Lock me lock me top me
But they really up to no
Good - what's your plan?!
Critics wanna hit me get me clip me
Rip me
hear the drum
He was in a class
By himself, by gum
Poor Johnny One Note
Got in Aida indeed a great chance to be brave
He took his one note
hear the drum
He was in a class
By himself, by gum
Poor Johnny One Note
Got in Aida indeed a great chance to be brave
He took his one note
I'm livin' large as possible, posse unstoppable
Style topical, it's vividly optical
Listen, you'll see 'em sometimes I'll be 'em
Cops, critics
if not, where the hell did it go?
'Cause here I sit in Lucifer's den by the dutch oven just choosing to sin
Even if it means I'm selling my soul,
flavours, in they solatos
Inspire young minds, stacked by Nato's
With the right determination of a patho
Running 'cross the water with bricks at his poncho
move my arms
Ran my bands up, copped a foreign
I got the bando jumpin' like Jordan
I do them random bitches for fun
I'm smokin' loud these days by
Game would say
"Hi!"s name in that manner
Many years went by
Still no legitimate answer
Anyway, I put out a mixtape in 12th grade
Hub City threat, minor
a god, let me be strong
I'ma vote for you
Oh, I'ma vote for you
I came from the sticks, we called it the crick
Surrounded by rednecks, I still wanted
This is the fourth by the four
'Please, Please Me', 'With The Beatles'
'Hard Day's Night' that's three
Now'beatles For Sale'
The young men
Love isn't a word, but a kind of art
Critics will pick till it falls apart
I can't believe i swallowed your lie
It made me sick inside
Oh I, am
a class by himself, by gum
Poor Johnny, one note
Got in Aida
Indeed a great chance to be brave
He took his one note
Howled like the North Wind
Brought
the sky, energy created by my third child
Swerve wit it, get it get it
Feels good to bust shots at the critics
You crave more taste of my funk
When my
you motherfuckers babysitted
I smash the critics like a overhand right from Riddick (yeah)
Come and get it, shitted on villains by the millions
I be
a critic
Who am i to criticize how you get by
Some can't see the shit I've seen with my eyes
I can't grieve some niggas still cry
Some ain't breathing some
to fiery needs by golden boys
In ad empires
Fiction, truth
Fiction, truth
Fiction, truth
Fiction
Fiction of the boob tube
Fiction of the papers
Kai, knew that you was pure by the look in your eyes
Baby I just wanna spend some time
Baby I can take you to the sky
Ain't gotta smoke but I'll get
mission feels really, really heavy
Or the critics are at their loudest
I always think about this story I heard about Mother Teresa
Mother Teresa was being
back when
For those critics, ya know he’s turned back the tide
Tho’ fashions may have just passed him by
Some are fading stars, on a downward slide
But
and humiliating family by my own.
Absolve yourself on stones
To half of your soul.
So, at the very end do one more deed
Try to make your head falling asleep.
.jpg/220px-The_Backyard_(album).jpg "The Backyard Critics")
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