The Man Who Could Be King

Chorus
b-boy to the world, emcee to some
let rap receive her king.
b-boy to the world, savior to more
let rap receiver her king.
Straightjacket rap for the lesser
you ain’t sick, you just under pressure
i know the feelin’ but flows need healin’
brought holistic health in the stealth form of a rhyme that you felt.
man listen!
i’m in the pole position, on-call physician,
ballin’ –on a mission to get y’all to listen.
that all. until ya do i’ma pioneer the proof…
until it’s customary that you tryin’ to hear the truth.
the truth meaning grand. the truth meaning agent.
the truth meaning the most amazing
blindside collision to hip rap ever.
if you wanna live trough this then build an ark yo. this is bad weather.
welcome to the grand age.
clear the stage, i’m original and paid.
it’s man-made but it’s god-like.
i be the image of perfection when i rhyme-write.
concernin’ me only wit the learning tree,
now you can hang from it or chop it down,
but either way it’s murder- see how you can afford to.
the brutal truth that i brought through (is) to support not abort you.
fought you to help you. before you felt me, i felt you
achin’ for a good song, on some monk shit –hoods on
-prayin’ for a real rapper to get put on.
well here i am and here goes nothing,
the neighborhood and your no more good after mine introduction.
man! i don’t give a fuck, i don’t really
and you can quote that from the pope of north philly.
only to my nature do i credit successes.
i’m one of few who the buck blesses and i sug-geses
you get right with the lord. get your mic and your cord,
i’m the new bandwagon. all aboard!
Chorus
b-boy to the world, emcee to some
let rap receive her king.
b-boy to the world, savior to more
let rap receiver her king.
Now what the fuck was you thinkin’? hanh?!
whatever it was, you wasn’t eatin’ it and sleepin’ it.
you wasn’t deep in it. when jokers see a real rapper, they get real humble.
i’m like the furious five rolled into one rumble
for recognition. bless the mission. it’s on!
me and the mic is twin hype, we did it to the crowd
without publicity stunt the first. it’s like mad other ways to make the new,
if i want. i’m blessed with the curse.
i play the hermit with the gun permit,
that’s a certified word to the media vermin.
it’s a thin line between yours and mine.
you write articles, i birth rhymes.
don’t go sniffin’ around, i’m not coke. i’m chemistry,
i (could) make tone poke poke.
tape recorder invader, black-male-sinead o’connor, james bond’ll
be the white grand agent.
honor the moniker when you taste it. treat it like the east, face it.
it’s the truth, i’m the roof on fire,
the six minutes doug got to get on,
the hell run, d and jay raised. born to sit on
thrones and take microphones where they’ve never been-
to middle ground, the worst and the best of men.
i mean, what’s a sword without two edges? after all,
look how many knew the ledges but they had to fall
for this to be my era, my epic
tale of a journey from the feared to respected.
revered for the records that i wrote along the path.
here’s a song you can have.
i’m not one for small talk, that’s a false start
like the no-rap workday offends and irks me.
yo, i never was a regular dude,
just an agent and grand is my secular mood.
yo, yo, i never was a regular dude.
just an agent and grand is my secular mood.
Chorus
b-boy to the world, emcee to some
let rap receive her king.
b-boy to the world, savior to more
let rap receiver her king.