Iron Vox - The Procussions

You can’t trust a rhyme

Take a young rapper’s head from his mustard spine

See’m hanging on the ledge wonder’n what’s the line

Need a «Q» ain’t nobody said cut this time

I see through it like the bullet hitting Custer’s mind

Beat the truth out a bully leave a busted eye

Like I was McFly try to cut the pie

Break a tooth on the crust kid lose your bicuspid

I’m out the trunk and all jewels are trusted

You out to lunch and your fools are rusted

You a tool a husk who must choose a ruler

Who you trust the new or old schooler knew the rules

Were made by those who only use the laws

To get paid off those ruled applause

So if the rebel and renegade must get paid off rap

Hm, marinate on that

This that hardcore, that real

It’s that medication that heals

I make that ghetto music they feel

I got that alternate for that pill

They want that

You got alot of belief in his stanza to become the answer

The antidote in a man’s hands demands

A little more than a couple of lines on this beat

Nice watch, you get it from that speech?

Find your teacher, the poet, the preacher

Take notes when the ticket is sold for this feature

The prophet who done profited a fortune

He’s pro life on his own life’s abortion

Highly competitive, morally relevant, benevolent

But negative when he clocks out

Beware when he taps out

The choke hold, count below four

For no dough?

He ain’t feeling it no more

Cut the ribbon but cut the check

Nurse, can a man make medicine out of a sick verse?

Beats, rhymes, and life, but life first

My mic it sounds nice but it might just hurt ya

This that hardcore, that real

It’s that medication that heals

I make that ghetto music they feel

I got that alternate for that pill

They want that

I’ma laugh at the face they brand

To take another lap in the race they planned

A villain in a mask, a leash on a lamb

To keep that relevant truth from a man

This fella got a wired heart

A night in dark, he shoots with a liars dart

Aimed at a mired art

I’ma I’ma

I’ma hack at that passé caste system

With a class A craft till the last victim of the math

Division in a graft decisions on a path for dominion

I’m a blast

This ghetto with a giant Sharp

A lion’s heart defiant with my iron box

Fire from the Krylon top with my style on wild

And my dial on Rock

Can’t stop pariah beat the block till it pops

Be to mock your sire be a notch in my Hi Tops

Cops for hire try to stop me

But can’t make me drop my pliers

Gonna crop you wires if you’ll not retire

We are not inspired we are not admires

If your eyes ears and mouths are not the wiser

You an idolizer