Sa-Je - Mic Check lyrics

[Verse 1] I try to progressively learn to make the best of my turn Upon this mic, because that light will make your recipe burn So I stay down to the Earth like I'm a freshly-grown turnip And I get turned up like the bottom of a bottle of syrup First, your only opposition should be positioned to opt out You got no shot, like Iguodala in the lockout I drop style to make your brain quickly crumble to acid mix Half of this sh** ain't even a task, it's more an abacus Of technique, when I bless beats, you'd think it's magic But it's all about the years I spent and tactics for my practicing Which doesn't come naturally to White and Jewish rappers, see So now with every track I gets y'all buried like a daiquiri Uh, they try to tell me, "Jay, you'd probably be best If you cut out all the curses, spoke on good, and skipped the rest" And though I do appreciate advice from fam and friends You got me f**ed if you think you know how I should self-express Yes, I'm never looking for the press Not because I can't obtain it, just because I'd hate the stress And I still spit the darts that come shooting from the dark And then get locked around your heart, call that cardiac arrest I didn't choose the game, I just saw the light Figured, "Hmm, my confidence could reach the tallest heights If I could spit raw, edit 'til it's altered right And then deliver out the science like I'm Walter White" Plus I can talk that lit like I was Walter Whit-- Man, you want a rapper with no faulty script And could make these other rappers nauseous sick Well then, put that together and I'm all that sh** [Bridge] Hold up, hold up, hold up Yo Sa-Je Let me get a Mic Check [Verse 2] They call me Internal, and I used to go by "Jay" But call me "Dante" when I throw on this inferno You can't step to me or even try to bring that bullsh** Of a sect to me, cause I ain't going infertile Yeah, and I ain't all about the paper, mate I'm about using papermates to give rappers I fatal fate You claim you'll father me? Hmm, well this just ain't the day Cause you and me related is more a cat in the cradle case My style's fire man, I'm burning when I hit the mic And you're just stuck on making matches like the fiddler's wife I give a little bite, with riddles, I'm no simple type My losing rate is like the republican fight for civil rights Surely I could rap about a fat sack But what fun is it to make my lyrics that whack? My favorite genre tried to take a catnap And in from the darkness crept these sad, babbling a** hats I attack, yeah I'm here Sat around too long, I got this idea It's time to give these emcees high fear Spitting raw, I'll start turning tables like I'm Ikea Riding 'round my neighborhood in mom's beat up corolla With a tube sock ego, taking sips of Pepsi-cola Everyone beware I'm trying angles for these squares X and O's get thrown in air like I'm a Playstation controller I'm a part-time baller, full-time liar With my hat turned around, rocking thrift shop attire My hobby's chance, yeah it's thinner than a wire Yet I still do it best, man, what more could you desire? Y'all need to stop all this bullsh** from revvin' up Cause it's the fans tryna jam that'll set 'em up But they're just watered-down a**holes rapping To me they're just anemones stuck in Eminem's enema [Outro] Yo sa-je, can I get a mic check? Yo Miggs, can I get a mic check? Sam Brown, can I get a mic check? Quise? Prez? Can I get a mic check? J.R., can I get a mic check? T.Y., can I get a mic check? AC Gang, can I get a mic check? Name one line where I ain't burn this f**ing mic yet Can I get a mic check? Can I get a mic check? Can I get a mic check? Name one line where I ain't burn this f**ing mic yet