Hands Up Lyrics

Write Of Passage
Song Year: 
Hip Hop



Battling me is the biggest mistake/ I put switchblade to your rib cage/
Jack you for those lyrics and then spit em on a mixtape/
I’ll rip pages out of your book/ hit stages shouting your hook/
That’s how you get took for tryina get brave/ and with age/
Been taking it seriously since the fifth grade/ at mid-break/
I’d battle seniors while other kids played/ at this stage/
I already had it on lock like a twist braids/
It’s like a home loan my interest was at a fixed rate/
I kicked eight/ for big Mike and left him dismayed/
He ended up giving me a dope beat that he had just made/
Gave him a warning that my tongue is sharper than pitch spades/
But he ignored it, now when I spit something I dig graves/
I write at such a quick rate/ depends how long the final mix takes/
I could drop an album every five to six days/
Change my name to electricity bill just incase/
I will knock your f’n lights out if I don’t get paid/
Now I’m bout to make you sniff these/ like a sick feine/
Struggling to get clean/ cause like Puffy and Faith I got big deams/
rip scenes/ which means more drama than big screens/
you’re like R Kelly son those are not even sixteens/
History’s repeating itself back in the sixties/
There was a Pro with an Afro battling hippies/
Nowadays this emcee writes and blazes similies/
That’s sharper than Wesley Snipe’s blade trinity/ Like Ripleys
Believe it or not some of you switch themes/
Like RuPaul while I’m too dawg like mixed-breed/
It’s like a game of soccer but backwards in the big leagues/
Instead of free kick goal, my goal is to kick free’s/
I’m getting rich off of these pricks like pyramid schemes/
Getting paid to take you all off like a strip tease/ (uh)
I leave you dumb-struck when I rip these/
I’m just tryina make a young buck out of this 50/
I’m what you call a graphomaniac that’s a compulsive writer/
I’m multiplying the rhymes to get your undivided/
You remind me of Mike Tyson you were once a fighter/
But you going down in history as just a biter/
I customize every line/ you best consult advisers/
Never needed to curse in rhymes/ to insult your mind/
You not NSYNC enough to Justify it/
Cause even with a remix you couldn’t touch it when I bust a rhyme/
I trust you’ll find/ when I spit these untouchable lines/
You’re forced to relate like a distant cousin of mine/
Eve the freestyle is stacked with dozens of rhymes/
You’ll need a beehive to establish a buzz like mine/
I put a dial code in front of the rhyme/ so when I spit it your mind/
Is like a phone to help you pick up the line/
I’ve redefined the words verbal abuse a bunch of times/
Cause I kick a word or two, and I punch a line/

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