A.L. - A.L., Avatar, Overbite, Mazzi, A.P., and J-Treds Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1) lyrics

[Intro: A.L.] Yeah, Eddie Ill, D.L. A.L., All Lyrics, Willie Esco. Benny Blanco from the Britton, so check it out, y'all. Watch out, uh. Yo, yo [Verse 1: A.L.] New York living got me trapped in a play ‘cause it's dramatical I want some radicals taking their life for collateral Theatrical scenes wake me up before my time's late My minds ache to find jake really part of the crime rate But I'll be leading, proceed to feeding lyrics as you need it Grieving from freedom, pleading, bleeding from the things I'm reading Your mind I stimulate. The mic is like a nickel-plate So pick you fate: affiliate or leave up in a crippled state We under dim lights, days are darker than the grim nights I used my windpipe for insight. Now I'm in pinstripes A prime example why I'm a slave to the sample My brain's got chains but the scars on my ankle Rap was a trample ‘cause this life had never been nice Walking on thin ice, I spin dice so I could win twice I'm from a hard place. My life is sort of like a car chase Amuse Allah's grace. Others lose like they were Scarface But couldn't see that. Be that n***as puffing the G-packs I'm losing kneecaps. What I quoted noted from G Rap We live in savage times. Kids, they wanna grab a 9 Damage minds in wonder states. Kick your same average rhymes I had a sign. ‘Cause this is rap, I'm the nucleus Emcees are ludicrous, they're new to this. I got some proof for this Stupid kids kicking Buddha skits, they're on my loser list They got no chance. I'm too advanced like computer chips My world's ill. Girls k**s using the uterus Against the Crucifix, desecrating the Holy Eucharist What? [Interlude 1: Avatar] Uh. Avatar, aka The Arctic. Yeah. Ayyo [Verse 2: Avatar] These lyrics Are intravenous. I'll bleed the most heinous of genius Indigenous scroll, the zenith [pin the Cali?] finale [?] the spectators to rally The savage from the alleyway, the mic's pa**ion like Alizé Thrashing with manic patterns on the stagnant public. I'll take My mic to madder days—I love it. A magic club's Liquid flows, legit scrolls. The superficial goes Out the window. Real issues that's official know My mic'll let ‘em know the culprit at the pulpit Ill, lyrical, rough sh** decoys can't f** with The mic I bust, quaking the dead. Syllables lead Hollow points indented to leave a web in your head I'll write a poem and then glow. The microphone then fold The pimp flows [?]. I'm unique [?] Too quick for radar, Avatar's way far advanced Let's spar with metal hands in ghetto vans. The crowd's in a trace When I ask the mic to dance, it's the circumstance of a Enhanced brother-slash-microphone lover I don't like to clone others on this sh** and sip it wicked Hazardous Anakins, he want some adjectives to be specific I'm rancid, I'm righteous. So radiant, I might just Supernova in the sky, spreading roses worldwide ‘Cause times is hard. Won't you listen through the palace, god? Kings and queens and lonely gods. My heart throbs to fix it Vaccine inflicted soldiers and fall back with sickness Jehovah couldn't witness such a graphic image Young teens turning to sinners. I sent this, repent this In a sentence ‘cause within us is the power to change Endless, relentless, we gotta shower our brains With vengeance against the status quo. They didn't plan to have Us grow, but if you don't try, you'll never know [Interlude 2: Overbite] Yeah, Overbite. Overbite Mania. Believe in the Five P's: Prayer, Power, p**y, Poetry, and Paper. n***a [Verse 3: Overbite] I got Redd Foxx charm, George Jefferson's walk Pryor's storytelling sk**s and Dolomite's talk This girl next door's such a beautiful sight So I brought binoculars to watch her change at night I conquer fashion. Some don't get it. I wear White after Labor Day and get away with it Your chicks are too tramp. I'm trying to be Trump But, true champ, troops chant but lie to chumps Real giants stand on the shoulders of me Futuristic—I got PlayStation 3 I was the last kid to get picked at gym They used to tease and grin. Now I feel more slim Overbite's the cross of parents being mad Their kids know my rhymes but don't know how to act I'm so confident to the point it's pathetic Forgive me. I haven't and I'll kick your rise fetish Peace. Overbite [Verse 4: Mazzi] Yo, I ain't about the [?] I ain't about the ice grill But if you wanna take it to that, I got the right sk** Tower like the Eiffel over adversaries Commentary very vocabulary-orientated Ghetto native made it without leaning toward the drug-related Hate it when these rappers yap a lot from New Jeru to Camelot I'll slay them when I play them, so just call me MC Lancelot Connect the dots—every single time, it figures my shape When I touch the microphone, unwillingly, it gyrates Watch me blow your mind like mental fel**tio Statistically get up in you at a high ratio Realistically defacing fronts like a car stereo Then mystically go naked and change your whole scenario Audio, visual, M-A-double-residual Hit ya, split ya, get ya, got ya in a tight grip My delivery is slick. Brace yourself—you might slip, trip Into my realm. I'll overwhelm to the utmost When I grab a pen, it's like I'm [?] cutthroat Bring it on, but I got better sh** that benefit for definite With proper etiquette, which causes action like a predicate [Verse 5: A.P.] Yo, my vocabulary spit words and crumble your world Shake you carbonated cats ‘til you turn flat, learn that The hard way. Burn like a hundred-proof With no chaser. The wack squad eraser. The eye mic Enforcer. The course of hard knocks, it made me rougher The nitty-gritty hustle on some amped sh**. Got a Problem, better straighten it. Most of you cats are still Faking it. Your money on the floor, I'm still taking it Questions on the dough. Now watch me rake it. Went from nothing My pockets to profit-stocking, came from project Living to high-cla** spending. Back-day Cats like, “How you living?” The money's for the getting Licking my fingers like what they hitting. Now roll sumpum Well, Mr. Diamond, fold sumpum [Interlude 3: J-Treds] Yo, yo, check him out, yo [Verse 6: J-Treds] Ayyo, my word sk**, I'll sum it up in a word: ill Spit ice—feel the summer breeze that I serve chill Cold lamping. Top of the heat, I'm so the champion People's choice—not a rapper who goes to the Hamptons Son, I keep it street. Weed in wallets the drill Got ‘em fiending like seeds crying, “Mommy,” for milk You can say I won't blow, but I probably will ‘Cause when I'm in the studio, it's like a bomb being built I got a short fuse, light it up, setting it off Heat a philly, feel the fire—son, I'm getting the torch You can just get with it or just get lost ‘Cause I'm that big spaghetti with the extra sauce I'm the living proof heads get bent off When I chill, they experience a sense of loss Son, that's why they're never telling me to k** the noise I got what they need, so I came to fill the void