Lyrics:
and a spare in the back
Lord who could ever ask for more
Sitting up high as the world goes by
Kicking-up dust in your tracks
It's a matter of pride
the way
Working in a factory eight days a week
Try to make dollar, damn what a beat
Cartoon capers happen in reality
Rich man, poor man, living in
Check, live from the 7-1-8
Either respect the flow or learn your lesson from your weight
I'm wishin arthritis on all writers who, Knock My Hustle
How
And them bomb beats
To make me move
Color of dead
Looks like the future is history
Why you dissin me
Ain't no mystery
On the outside peekin in
End of your
For the groove
And them bomb beats
To make me move
Color of dead
Looks like the future is history
Why you dissin' me
ain't no mystery
the way
Working in a factory eight days a week
Try to make dollar, damn what a beat
Cartoon capers happen in reality
Rich man, poor man, living in
an 8 stack
Put it my grey sack put it on my back then I move on asap
I am music but I am not a rap
My name eski
I'm sitting on the clouds where
a decent
And safe place to live (yeah, that's right)
And if we start dotting the
Black Community with businesses (YEAH)
Opening up factories
(WHAT ELSE?)
"It's Mr N on that track"
(Verse 1)
Pull up, pull up,
We naughty from start till school's done
Other classes getting jealous
Coz they know 8G is
We look up at the night sky X3
cnd see our past twinkle right by,
The future reflected upon the waters that lie below,
cnd the fleeting present
and history
A calamity from the skies,
on a crash course to collide
Finite and fragile,
Impotent and ephemeral
Eight billion breaths force-fed with ash
I am the streets, the future
I introduce you to Ace Hood, Meek Mills
Big Sean, Wale, Vado, this the future
They gettin' money, they makin' hit
My goodness, my gracious, shell told a beat us with the fat blue racist
Hand full of aces, trumped up dumb trunk white wall paces
Drink till you
that's restricted
We criticize producers 'til they joints are right
Then acupuncture the track with pinpoints of light
Hitting them from well
thought at night that comforts me is starving whoever's hunting me
Shit, lucky me, to be rich in a world where nothing's free
And separated from hell by
paint fresh as I'm is
Minding my biz flat no fiz
At my own pace track star shit
Had to flip the beat still so unique
One of ones what I'm slipping on my
up)
Heard the beat, my first thought is, "I'm bout to beat this the fuck up" (yeah)
Talkin' all that tough talk, like, "Fuckboy, come run up"
Real
die by mine)
Is this the new national anthem (America, you created a monster that refused to beat noise, the ? Is up)
Is this the new national anthem
Run the track
Ooh, it's, it's so funky, it's, it's so funky
(Yes it is, 15 after da' hour, baby)
Ooh, ooh, it's, it's so funky, it's, it's so
Today is Tuesday, or is it Wednesday?
I lose track of time
We are walking along the roadside
Your hand is in mine
Shops are closed, guesses are open
fuck it, you're right
Hot chicks and Kung-Fu, you can't beat that
Can't beat that at all
(Surface contact in ten nine, eight, seven, six, five)
came on a makeshift main stage,
and sentenced to in an inoperable eight bit frame rate,
for that i made a game play, reborn torn,
at the ministry
(EarlOnTheBeat) haha, say
(Dun Deal on the track)
My nigga say "Hi!"s mama don't like them
(Bricks, this shit finna kill these niggas)
Psh, I don't
The city on our back, we was the opening act
Throw our tapes in the crowd, they throw 'em right back
But we stayed on track, they stayed on the tracks
I
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