+MISSION STATEMENT+
I sip the Dom P, watchin Gandhi til I’m charged, Then writin in my book of rhymes, all the words pass the margin, To hold the mic I’m throbbin, mechanical movement, Understandable smooth shit that murderers move wit, The thief’s theme, play me at night, they won’t act right, The fiend of hip-hop has got me stuck like a crack, pipe, The mind activation, react like I’m facin time like, ’Pappy’ Mason with pens I’m embracin, Wipe the sweat off my dome, spit the phlegm on the streets, Suede Timb’s on, my feets, makes my cypher, complete, Whether crusin in a six-cab, or Montero Jeep, I can’t call it, the beats make me fallin asleep, I keep fallin, but never fallin six feet deep, I’m out for presidents to represent me (Say what?), I’m out for presidents to represent me (Say what?), I’m out for dead presidents to represent me…
Whose world is this?…The world is OURS!
Milk+Syrup
