Lyrics

[Intro: EZ Mac] The young niño (What?), wearin' his jeans low Chillin' with Vintage and Beedie and killin' this Preemo— The young niño (What?), wearin' his jeans low Chillin' with Vintage and Beedie and— The young niño, wearin' his jeans low Chillin' with Vintage and Beedie and killin' this Preemo (You know) Ill Spoken, basically I got that mean flow— (PotentProduct.com) [Verse 1: EZ Mac] The young niño (What?), wearin' his jeans low Chillin' with Vintage and Beedie and killin' this Preemo (You know) Ill Spoken, basically I got that mean flow I make it hot, like you puttin' on three coats (Yup) I spit remarkably with words that could part the seas Spark the tree, grab a pen and pad and just start the beat (Chyeah) 'Cause I'm just tryna chill-chill, write some shit Light a spliff, get high 'cause life's a bitch So we have nights of mischief Hittin' piff, flippin' zips, a fist of chips, takin' cats out they licorice (Gimme that) I'm all skills, no name, no nothin' Game don't care about the flame, no chain, no lovin' (Sorry) See, you spit fire, EZ Mac's got that blue flame (Yup) I'm heated, wheated, ready to do things This shit amazes me, thought I had a new brain (Uh-huh) And feelin' this dude's game is too plain, ba-da-boom-bang (Oh) Cats thinkin' they can hang Got yourself a gun, now cats thinkin' they can slang (What you doin'?) I kick knowledge at those who need to learn And I spit fire towards the MCs who need to burn (Burn) Burn, baby, burn, it's the baby's turn Crazy spittin', rabies, AIDS be worse Spreadin' sickness, sprayin' germs (Germs, germs) Yeah, and that's how it goes In case you haven't heard before (What?), well, now you know (Haha) [Verse 2: Vintage] Ayo, I move on tracks like trains And drop jewels on tracks like chains Let a fat sack relax my brain I attack tracks with a flat-line aim Vintage kick it classic 'cause that's my name For the bread, I am leavin' cats Posturepedic flat As Beedie gettin' cheesy, it's simple as Easy Mac The Ill Spoken on the come-up, still smokin' when the blunt's done 'Cause we that fire, better ask someone Hope you catch this rap for fun 'Cause we run laps around ya tracks faster than the NASCAR runs I just wanna smash somethin' with the ass all plump Splash fast, watch some M*A*S*H re-runs Sip some Coke and rum Hip-hop, your hope has come How High get more playin' time than the coach's son Known as Vinny The Truth, strong as 151, and I'll give 'em the proof So, Beedie, give 'em the poof [Verse 3: Beedie] On the mic, I flip balls like Dominique Dawes I'm on the hunt to get yours, I kinda need to floss (What?) Gotta be the boss, these other rappers is soft Like toilet tissue, so official, I'm feelin' it, Sos (What up?) I'm in the club, man, but ain't nobody heard about me I'm in a pair of Air Nikes and a dirty white tee I see a couple cuties and they lookin' at me (Sup, baby?) Could it be I'm sippin' vodka mixed with purple Hi-C? (Haha) Sippin' and spillin', fixin' the feelin' Lookin' as sick as the villains wildin' at the bar without a proper ID (Yeah) I be the underaged, deranged person when raised That's ready to rip your heart out, I feel it up in my veins (Fuck) It's me, Vinny and Mac, spittin' plenty of crack Gimme your sack, I'ma flip it to a penny and pack So, huh, who really on track? My train never stops Leavin' marks and scars on the mic, it's sizzlin' hot, ya dig? [Outro: Beedie & DJ Rated R] Haha, and that's the truth (Yeah), muhfucka, haha (What you know about it, mayne?) The Ill Spoken (Can't forget Brother Free) Vintage, 412 (We out) (Can't forget Eddie Raw)