Without A Parachute

Lyrics

Intro: Awon Man these niggas, just gettin on this fly shit, tryna be fly, they comin with that monkey shit, watching MTV, watchin niggas gettin they outfits, picking they shit out of magazines, lookin like a straight pop culture skateboard or some shit man, I've been fly since 1992 Polo Stadium bitches Verse 1: Awon The realist nigga in this post modern movement Now everybody wanna be up on some cool shit Still giving you the music you can move with With all out tutorials to those who were stupid Like, heavy set niggas in skinny jeans Pop culture really gravitates to anything Awon will decapitate any king My goal in the game is to acquire many rings Like MJ, age old sensei, flow caliente Or Modo Modo, I'm so global Ya'll niggas without passports is so local Bitches think I'm an asshole, I'm so vocal Energy kinetic, justice poetic Ego trippin ain't never apologetic Half of your high price outfits are pathetic And black number 3 from 94 I'm the freshest Verse 2: Awon I never let a blog tell me how to dress I was in low onesies, newborn fresh Junior high was Pascal Guess Tommy Hill stripes, across my chest with the LA text You know I still caught wet like the boys club Dismantle toy thugs like GI Joe & Transformers Stay under the cheerleaders skirts like black warmers Crushed the talent show even then I was a performer So to all of ya'll who just started rhyming Wait a little while cuz I'm not done shining Good for me but for me it's bad timing The underground in the street, niggas cosigning The illest cat you ever heard call him Heathcliff Trash all you riff raff niggas kicking that weak shit It's no secret like Victoria Niggas paranoid like the battle over Nas on they cornea Verse 3: Awon I'm paying all my dues without coupons So I can pull up and ask pass the great group-on Kneeling low when something when the roof gone Top fold like a futon Niggas just gettin on when I was on in 03 You know I stay clean like I got OCD And A got them bitches back on OPP fam Now niggas callin me an ODB damn Sick lyrical, punchlines subliminal Crunch time is minimal, no sweat for generals Lunchtime is everytime I kick a rhyme And find niggas with gourmet design to devour Like hors d'oeuvre, understand four words You will not win is a sin fucking with him, I'll push it in Like a phone call, I'm tired of being on The game I'm peeing on Like toilet seats if you weak