Crimson Across It

Lyrics

[Doseone] All these rappers, man-- They just want to be the boss It's like watching a bunch of clerks fight Over a better title Title, whod'a thought I wouldn't get it Didn't want a crown that never fitted Halo-lidded as it is And poison-pitted Spit acidic couplets 'Bout new low self-image And I'm kitted With a vicious set of wits And how I pick apart a bitch Is quickly by the artishness (Or lack thereof!) I'll re-use every part of it: Clavacle to cartilege. No love Or quarter shall be given To the weak of gift who drub And shopping-list the shit outta they rookie raps (No! No!) Get these young'uns milk 'n' cookies back (Oh!) And wash off all their wishful thinking caps (Oh!) Who don't know how to axe (Oh!) Probably the nicest thing I can say about that Capitalist trash you call music And when I get my mind-corrects My proper dues and due respects My debt, my staff, and dollar stacks I'm gonna chuck the twenties back And when I get my mind-corrects My proper dues and due respects My debt, my staff, and dollar stacks I'm gonna chuck the twenties back Can you see the lies Most truth kill a death And I'm done with all that You ain't fit and you ain't phat Can you see the lies Most truth kill a death And I'm done with all that You ain't fit and you ain't phat Tongue side good guy, smash smart phone face Bury bone pile, poem wild grown ape Not beaten, not nice even-nail eating tip finger Beat beating Norse heathen, super sick leather seven With a hat and some coke to spit, sliced heaven I forged that, grown, and gave it wit Did you hide from the sky when it barked and shot? Or ride in to die, hard place rock And no joy, and all that fear-packed white noise Fun fact: I am rap poise that do spite you That which don't douse you do most likely ignite you These the maze part, faint heart dark circles I life through Day night pen knife like who do diffuse and shrink A man removes his shoes and thinks: 'What, uh, what do I really got In it? And why would I walk these coals When they still hot?' Or get loud in the city where I smoke my throat In the land of dope, beat vandal pope Edgar Oh regret me no death I go At it like a small man loves his things One motherfucker, four affordable rings This bad D-O-S-E-O-N-E is what he sings And I lives what I swings, bleed a swole pen out Inks, thinks, frees Where my few friends at? You can run from your prick You can run from your past You can run from bein' bitch But can't run from all that You can run from your prick You can run from your past You can run from bein' bitch But can't run from all that Can you see the lies Most truth kill a death And I'm done with all that You ain't fit and you ain't phat Can you see the lies Most truth kill a death And I'm done with all that You ain't fit and you ain't phat Can you see the lies Most truth kill a death And I'm done with all that You ain't fit and you ain't phat Can you see the lies Most truth kill a death And I'm done with all that You ain't fit and you ain't phat