Stomping Ground - CYNE

Sort of like Marvin with the brightest soul.

I pack a hydro bowl

My life’s no stranger to sin, but I’m a righteous poet

Part of the globe know it, other half is sleeping on it

Me lyrical king.

I’ll spill for my next opponent

They better step up on it.

Mic in hand, I’m never tonic

Cats want to brag about wealth but now they’re scared to flaunt it

We got that real shit—no gimmick, genuine

That true-school hip hop ‘cause y’all too feminine

Chauvinist to abstract, I’ll backslap your wack act

Back to the future we go as we unroll the scrolls

Sent many years ago by the you-know

The true MC extraordinaire, mic avenger.

We’re here

Little tipsy off the Grey Goose and drop of Belvedere—nah

I’m just playing.

I rarely do liquor

I’m into sipping Red Stripe or any malt liquor

Take a closer look and you find that CYNE

Got a lot of rhymes, lyrics, sling no gimmicks

MCs, they go plead.

Yo, they so timid

CYNE, we not borderline—we pros in it

Our soul’s in it.

Plus, we got foes grinning

While damn most spitting, our prose infinite

We rude boy rap soldiers with no limit

Now I must be entirely too fucking nice

That’s my right-hand man—Clyde Graham be the Cise

I got the game on lock so hard, niggas, they can’t move

I float through notes while I cope, stole it and choke you

I’m so illness, throw up this shit in a sentence

Making heads 360 when I sit down to finish

Master to the teachers, skipped levels from an apprentice

It’s risky business—motherfuckers fucking with realness

I just killed it.

The microphone just sputtered

The speaker just uttered that this one sick motherfucker (Alright)

I’m so on point, turntable needles are jealous

Half-asses niggas make up my burger, forgot no lettuce

Shook niggas are off-the-Richter, taking my picture

So abrasive, soft niggas are getting blisters

Leave you in shambles.

Your silly crew manhandled

So goddamn you.

The elephant logo will stamp you

You can’t find me—I'm a weapon of mass destruction

Never was in Iraq—I'm right here, you motherfucker

I’m like Jason Bourne, armed with a microphone, strutting

Globetrotter mic assassin—can't tell me nothing

I speak different languages.

You saying, «Can't we just

All get along?»

You’re dead wrong ‘cause I’m Notorious B.I.G

For making headlines whenever I sketch rhymes

East to the Westerners fear.

They all respect.

I’m

Engaged in a lyrical war, Johnny Blazing

This Man got a Method.

Your clan is half-amazing

Magnificent.

That’s what I am and ladies love this

Brown-skinned nigga.

Might make your lady blush like

I got a man like Kate, but she ain’t positive

If she’s feeling you or Akin—that's so prerogative

So don’t be cruel now.

I murder with the ink and

Every little step, I take this nigga place

So I must be entirely too fucking nice

You could tell how I write, you could tell how they fight

Man, I must be entirely too fucking nice

You could tell how I write, you could tell how they fight

I must be entirely too fucking nice