Lyrics

[Intro] Yeah, kno'am'sayin' Chief Kamachi Section-8 Egyptian Supreme Mic Messiah Cult Status Kno'am'sayin', Good Hands C'mon DJ Primetime [Verse One] Yo, yo Rainbows never gleam, three course meals grate barely seen Black thirsty teen, scheming in jungle with dry streams Everything is ease, when you ducktaping ki's Walk off jeans, shooting three's in a hundred degrees Dreams of living great on a hundred acre estate Swans in my private lake lamping with mackintosh papes Champagne suds leaving stains on my antique rugs Love, bathe in custom made Japanese tubs Relax, no more dice rolling and hammer holding Index finger counting the Ben Franks and folding Luxuries all I ever wanted to see Plantation of paradise in a GS 3 In a cesspool of war when we professionally poor Want more then the coin that Judas betrayed Jesus for Last Supper dreams, oil refineries like Sheikh Ameen Piranha's with gold fronts in shim streams So clean strangled by black boa stretched beams Thick with a Sicilian grip spoil my queen Kingdom of drugs in a jungle playing with lion cubs Out the badge boys camera lens that's eyeing thugs Perfect, look at the oxygen I'm breathing worth it Earn paper sperm let's pregnate my bank circuits School slowly, my older parole the hustle born me Packing a chicken nugget box the skies is poultry Kamachi [Verse Two] Ayo, speech in the code of the street, the eldest teach Don't season beef without heat, to properly prepare the meat But some talk like tongue gun, related to someone Iller than me cause of where you come from Inner type you bad, but your cousin smuggle bags The murders A-rabs, couldn't stick up a Hattian cab Vivid image, see through you with that linguistic voodoo Tryna hex us like Island gurus Mouth full of violence but your action reflects silence When your killers from Hollis You need your Versace shoe polished Abolish the rap, promise the purest crack Half of the retail value to acquire right off the bat Generals, no cadets, cadets, no generals Tell the truth baby boy, you ain't a real criminal Lies colorful like pilots, ain't nothing violent Upstate was crowded, you was chef sissy tossing salads Kamach!