Epiphany

Lyrics

[Intro: Scratches by Chris Liggio] [Verse 1: Breeze Brewin] Behold the fungus among us When dabbling with babbling, I sends the battle scene to the apocalypse With this, you grab my cock, your lips be getting sort of puckery Getting the Brewin gassed to save that ass, come stop the fuckery My style'll leave you posing like a hitchhiker Make me wanna bitch-microphone-slap that shady ass, you bullshit nigga You fronted, said you didn't think too hot of me But once you feel the vocal side of me, you'll say: "You got it, G" I finds the virgin ears, I'm busting raw pops You're saving the drops, trying to analyze my DNA The verbal blueprint, even if you spend eternity, you're baffled, nigga Having not the slightest clue of how I'm swinging Bringing styles and flowing nastier than urine See, my shit is pure and ghetto, embellished, demonic funk, and all that good shit A bad nigga when it comes to grabbing mics I love all women of the spectrum, fuck around I'm stabbing dykes, and as I hurt 'em, I convert 'em When it comes to honey dip skits I'm leaving pussies sore as if you just delivered triplets I flip shit. When niggas say the Brewin doesn't rhyme slick I yokes 'em in the Heimlich just to get that fucking garbage out your throat Mentally hardcore, there be no guard for defending against the shit I'm sending Once you're comprehending the ill funk aphrodisiac Giving the hoodies woodies as I'm fucking up Their head like brass knuckles giving noogies [Hook: Samples with Scratches by Chris Liggio] (x4) "Listen up, everybody, the bottom line" "I just get down and I go for mines" [Verse 2: Breeze Brewin] I'll be's the hellifying word-breather, even Ripley can't believe I pull a stunt as if my name was Colt Seaver AKA The Fall Guy I never stall—why? I'm hitting like Mattingly Get your Funk & Wagnalls dictionary Look under "Fat" and you'll see my profile, so smile You're grinning like the Joker 'cause I chose to smoke a mic and let you witness Get this through your thick skull: my shit is deadly I kicks my verse niggas couldn't offer competition with a medley Of their works I smirks when booty niggas try and gat this Survival of the fittest, call me fucking Tony Atlas at the podium I pours my sodium in open flesh wounds as I mesh tunes With the vocal joint to become the focal point Brothers of funk soon discover I be deeper than that nigga Larry Fishburne's Cover Hover on the L, sort of like a stealth in the night Then I makes the party jump even when it's full of white men [Hook: Samples with Scratches by Chris Liggio] (x4) "Listen up, everybody, the bottom line" "I just get down and I go for mines" [Verse 3: Breeze Brewin] Check it out My writing sent enlightenment that had you squinting Hinting to rewards of the Lord's charity received with clarity I heave skillaful syllable as the brick I stick In music mortar, making you think and raising my fort of architect I comes to spark a TEC, mind barrages, massages, caress the piece/peace The vocal acupuncture, your stress released like a hymen cracking My rhyming slacking? Never that Styles mysterious like under LL's hat The curious become the furious and play the jury Thus, I'm found guilty Labeling my sound filthy with the gutter in my utter A fat bitch goes: "mi-mi-mi" I cut her in pieces, kill her sisters, daughters, and nieces Anything related to such a thought I crush, I fought hard representing wicked Juggaknot minds I breaks it down to your English, I makes you say, "I'm gooder" Verbs deeper than a hooker strictly boning seven-footers [Hook: Samples with Scratches by Chris Liggio] (x4) "Listen up, everybody, the bottom line" "I just get down and I go for mines" [Outro: Scratches by Chris Liggio]