Mahershala Ali - The Majors lyrics
[Verse One: Casual] I'm most strictly spectacular Spit rhyme vernacular But first read the verse I'mma back it up with Not necessarily your best bet No sense of clarity Hopeless, losing focus Apparently a parody I'm still saucy, boss-style be real flossy Not these artsy cats with Bill Cosby raps I'm with a skeezer She overseas on a visa A hip hop chick Yo spit wannabeeza Street corner teach a feminine perimeter Breach her, leave her stuck in a smile like a Mona Lisa Dope fiend, I'm on protein Three hundred grams a day Smockin' out to Santa Fe With Sidney and Savannah Ray Hey, your man is major You're minor like a B-flat Cats can see that But when addressin' Casual or Prince Ali on the set It's Lieutenant Major General for you can bet Cats is major.... [Verse Two: Prince Ali aka Mahershala Ali] Heaven help the relevant, I pitch straight from the hip Bullpen brigadier, peddle with other merchants Sandblast your catamaran right out the dry dock Jack London ferry boat stops, soakin' your iPod Fortune teller speak As he split as hey matches Cyclops Ducks is ...archery, fine arts Louisville Sluggers They're swinging, I'm throwin' side-arm Rollie Fingers knuckle-baller Home plate Argonauts Talkin' like you're holding your stirrups up when I walk Fanatics in the dugout get booted back to the bleachers Colossus coliseum caressin' pedigree peoples Poppin' off at the lip pretending like you can beat me Bat a box of jawbreakers, throwing knowledge at heathens Sayin' they're keepin' it real, players faking a femur Need to hang up the cleats, this is big league Adidas [Verse Three: Planet Asia] Yo, London accent Tango crew, Jamaican fashion Section 8 dimes gold chain champions The MC mascot, corporate cash crop Is back from where I left off, getting that cash, Pops Finally, GCM, we got distro Fine wine, if we ain't got signing we gon' sip slow Stop the tomfoolery I'm seeing too much coonin' Looks like a job for the god to drop j**elry Box session Part Two I came to add on to the legacy of hip hop's elite top dudes La Schmoove, and I ain't got nothin' to prove You're f**in' with who? Your food ain't nothing to chew What it do? I'm like hard liquor and brew Boilermaker revenue And now I got your burnin' in my stew You talkin' words in your verse but it ain't true You lie and you s** I rhyme for the bucks, you rhyme for your crew, what? [Verse Four: Keith Murray] Keith Murray Casual thug, holding no grudge Showing you love, look at the judge Don't even budge Tell 'em, "Your honor: take it in blood." You put your hands on me, you're gonna draw back a nub I G with the Def Squad and the L.O.D Plus I follow Mohammed like my man Ali I'm an MC, I don't even gotta touch ya To break down your whole molecular structure Keith Murray's flow is always timeless Now your head is hanging low like your named Imus From New York down to the Bay Area My flow makes MCs feel inferior I'm an illustrious funk rhyme sayer Swish and stack chips 'cause the flow's major Attack chicks with big lips like Fantasia You're all in the mix and don't deserve to be a player Buck-fifty, hater....