Clock Keep Tickin’

Lyrics

Intro: Yeah, haaa C'mon, Kamachi! Yeah, Philadelphia I'm back y'all Hip-Hop C'mon, I'm back y'all C'mon, I'm back y'all Chorus (x2): The Clock Keep Tickin' Mach keep spittin' And stars is written, everybody just listen Rhyme thought travel at a tremendous speed Clouds of smoke through natural blends of weed Verse 1 (Chief Kamachi): Yeah, years underground, Mach move clandestine Thug Kundalini rise then they wrap around the spine Yogi with a handgun, name author Eveline New Year's Eve night, stranded in Babylon French kiss poison piranha's in the Amazon Levitate over the projects with the cameras on No trips to Italy to tell them that I am a Don Celebrate on Space Mountains, bring the whole fam along Smoke 70 grams, now that light dim is gon' Pink elephants, wondering what am I on? I hear my voice, muthafuckin' jam is on Cold crush, angel dust, mic marathon Final call, concepts from Young Farrakhan Watch for the terror bomb Stroll in a era calm Medical card, charge for the marijuan' Soul sick, everybody needing to hear a song Chorus (x2) Verse 2 (Chief Kamachi): Yo, dirt weed in a scented jar Blood on the Scimitar on my way to Bethlehem Following the dimmest star Demonic zār looking for a gem to spark Trained for the Afterlife, twelve hour seminar Lunch break, belly-dancers at a swinger's bar Estropip got a eye for who the winners are Born mack look nothing like a Minotaur Full pack, blow the back outta scented fog Look at me strange, rap slang bembezar Tryna travel to the moon in a rented car Back on the green, last putt to win the pawn Tee hood shank, slowly open up a scar Organ donors, death diplomas Whole graduating class lay stretched in comas Belly of the Beast, smoke hundred L's with Jonah Ten gold medals, back home from Barcelona Chorus (x2) Verse 3 (Chief Kamachi): Yo, what did the green pyramids seal, back of the bill Only need one eye to see if you real Musical morgue, ice box keeping them chill Play the trumpet of Jabrail Cold killer straight from Brazil In the booth writing murder Tryna scrape up a deal Selling 8-balls of rap, don't make 'em a will Camouflage Sunday suits, dressed to kill Underground legend, Mach got the freshest appeal Gypsy lady once told me my message was ill Gave me seven free rides on the carnival wheel Y'all can't do it, let the most honorable spill Black hoodie rap, grew up on that Wu-Tang feel Hip-Hop back on trial, the bail is a trill Behind wires and steel, Messiah will build Touch your forehead, now you can acquire the skill Pray to Rakim Allah when I sit on the hill (Chorus) 2x