This Space - Wise Intelligent

This ain’t no sipping tea

Nigga better stop tripping, G

Soon every emcee will see

Why none of these other emcees fuck with me

Ruff!

Because I’m old school nigga

Bonneville!

Like a old school whipper

Got a mill!

Ain’t no spitter sicker

Can’t no spitter script a iller script a living scripture

I’m the victor so I figure

Can’t a mirror paint a picture clearer

Ain’t no cross dressers from my era

Jah pretenders or no Caitlyn Jenners

Yeah I chopped my antennas

Other-worldly was my early lyrical communications

There were spaces from the places I received initiation

So in basic conversations I was flying over niggas heads

In layman’s terms I had to chop the dreads

To check the game and rap is off the bed <—

Crimson trace on his face — shot off his head!

We call it murderer style

Don’t make me bury a child

I’ll be here for a while so prepare for me now

And be ready when the shit goes down

Mag pull 30 rounds that’s another going down

Mad fools mean clowns brass ??

clash sounds <—

Drop a jewel, give a pound

Stevie Wallace nigga do the knowledge

Never hatin' but ths space requires patience

To be great but nominated rap’s greatest most underrated

And that’s gotta be the greatest fuckin' understatement

You wonder why we lacking as a nation

Y’all be acting like we crazy

When we sayin rap is more than entertainment

Then some crackers came and changed it

Now all your rappers say the same shit

Make a mil, pop a pill, throwing up some gang shit

Running from the cops but other blacks think you bang with <—

This space hurt, excuse my fucking language

It’s like a famous, far from what the game is

Name on the same list

Because your favorite rapper know me

You think I rap and lil homie

But I’m it’s progenitor

Veteran, been at war

My whole race in a hurt space, I ain’t bitter or

Bitching ‘bout a rap rep

Listen, I’mma rap rep Trenton to the fullest

Spittin' bullets, better back step

Do it in the name of love, Machine Gun Kelly

A-R but not the R pissin' on your daughters belly

I’m the truth like really

You niggas sound silly

When you say you love your niggas but have no love for your women

Seeing niggas hugging kissing

Seeing women duck and diss em

How the fuck you don’t feel em?

They the mothers of your children

The only thing appealing is the cap for your bald cap

Whole head snap back, knocking off his snap back

Fuck it, let’s just say liberated from the crack trap

Go home flush his crack packs

Hacked into his ProTools, erase all the wack raps

The music, on the overused trap tracks

That’s that — scratch that, I’m almost ready

Hurt locker, booth rocker, call me

Slap a cracker if I hafta, like Sara Suten Seti

While these rappers making cake just to date Lil Debbie

I’m with runnin' devils from

And I’m hot, Serengeti

No I’m not sparing lefties

You know, righteous racist liberals who won’t speak it but detest me

Call the cops, hope they arrest me

Turn my sunny day gray, I be more like Freddie

Say he feared for his life to justifiably get me

Hold on wait a minute let me address this space correctly

Devil’s

A transvestite wins the Espy

Seems like nothing in this space, gonna serve or protect me

So I study Amos Wilson and convey it to my children

Dr. Bobby Wright was right, Mentacide is in the building

Exit into B. F. Skinner, overwriting what your will is

If we control resources, we can turn poor kids to killers

Even though we engineered it, they would never think to kill us

So we can keep convincing half the poor the other half’s the villain

And they can do our dirty work, so we don’t have to kill em

The nature of this space is race related — no opinion

Decimated, melinated corpses forced in graves and prisons

Young black voices drowned out by this «all lives» meta-sickness

See this space is so systemic

It’s endemic anti-blackness is inherent

It’s foreparents planned it this way that’s apparent