Dynamite S.O.U.L. - Guilty Simpson, Ras Kass, Fashawn

Ladies and gentleman

Ladies and gentleman

Ladies and gentleman

Are you really ready for some super dynamite soul?

I body tracks with a brutal approach flying coach

First class when I’m dropping shit I wrote

Convert cash in airports and splurge on whatever I desire

The lead writer, I street fight ya, ya’ll play Street Fighter

Big difference, miles apart, styles is darts

On point I parallel park on street cats

Feed your back a knife, a reckless

Watch your tone around here

Even kingpins get dethroned around here

They don’t give a fuck about what they buck buck

Bring me the truck tucked and sleep with tough luck

Harsh reality, spark the Cali tree

In the motor city where they chart fatalities

B-boy stance the place

Cause the poppers gonna pop, the breakers gonna break

I’m one of the depressed children, top billing

If skills would pay the bills I’m worth at least a hundred million

A lot of rappers be illin', hit 'em with the dealing

Turn an overnight villain, catch a case and start squealing

I’m standing on a square like a slice of Sicilian

Afghan vet killing, fucked like the debt ceiling

I treat crabs like my red-haired step children

Slap 'em around, fuck they moms with my sex healing

Word to Marvin Gaye

I put the same gun you bought me to your chest and blow you away

Pause, period periodically delirious

FM radio is wack so I usually bump Serius

Effect the Gucci belts microphone plug

Makes me not very likable

Make all the bitches fight like my dick’ll do

Walk into the booth with a mouth full of pick to chews

I’ll tell you something that you need to learn

You ain’t seen beef 'til you seen an urn

If it ain’t about money why would I be concerned

If not my Coheeba burn

Yes, flicking ashes on my adversaries

Got a list of maggots that I’d be glad to bury

I used to burn chronic out of bible papers

Street disciple ripping pages out the Book of David

Over the stove with the recipe

Chef Boyar-G flow effortlessly

Your punchlines couldn’t make an eye swell

You ain’t Mike Jordan you Montell

Silly you for thinking you missle-proof

Now I’m just positioning my pistol to hit your troops

I bridge the gap like a dentist

Reinvented the reinvented, no limit so independent

And I gotta be the villain, I’m probably just a minute

Here’s the middle finger case any got offended

Llama in the linen, vodka in my system

Prada with my hands that pray that the father forgive this

Rhyme schemes like mescalin to the fiends

Nothing coming between my regime, naw mean

The menage of a kick and a snare

Between that a mirage for the vision-impaired

I’m in a league where the stars can’t fit in they chairs

So when I speak I barrage whoever sittin' in there

The armrest turned conquest, I’m just here to Contra the compress

Automatic concrete your congress

A sixteen sound like I was drumming out

We just trying the Upper Eastside and take the Drummond route

Know me in the building for the walls that be jumping out

I be on my Willis if Janet try and come around

Singing Mo Money, I’m singing Mo Money

Harmony hundreds couldn’t get a note from me

Regardless we’re on it there’s nothing like 'em that be on

The bargain they wanted just walked 'em right into the norm

I loop 'em up a song, open up the beat and

Then name somebody doper than the dope you get from me

And holler when you think of 'em

From the soul ya’ll

Soul

Dynamite soul