Q-Tip (SH Fe Mc's.
When I rhyme, the effect just ripples
You sound sick, I hope your cells get sickles
You formulate into real stiff (shit)
Then I bet that it cut the chit chit
Cause the Ab will, be sharper than a Ginsu
Cutter or your bum (ass) head for the gutter
This is not a game and we ain't looking for the fame
That ain't the aim, we came to rip the jam out the frame
My inter-reaction with paper is amazing
So needless to say mad trails are left blazing
A whole lot of bull(shit) rhymes start to get play
But I'm here to say real rhymes to pay
I'm the type of brother that writes until my knuckles get nary
And through the domepiece, the rhymes will carry
Then transported to my throat then the quotes hit the air
As I stand dipped with the wares
Rhymes get slot times, move back from the jack
It's the verbal constructor, some MC's is wack
I make a girl do the bogle, doo doo brown and all
Make (niggas) jump up, drink Don, and have a ball
I ainimate the unlively with the verbal combat
The Abstract, never the wack
Motivator of the many like Moses
Moving through, bringing games into the dummies that pose us
That means you the sub relator of the sub culture
Like a vulture I swoop down on crowns, cause confusion all around
Mental burdens I bring to MC's who sing
They sad songs, money, the dough's not long
Mine on the other hand is lent me tight
The Abstract gets real, real, real
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