Permanent Ink (beat by Vintage) feat. Braille and Sivion

I speak facts to the speaker's collapse

Release wax to prove that true MCing is back

The fans are sick of y'all, I'm the reason you're wack

I got this all under control, you just need to relax

Ride the rhythm with precision, style and grace

And keep it funky, man, like finesse digging in the crates

Write miles when I'm asleep, catch wreck when I'm awake

And if you get it twisted, then I'll set the record straight

Don't underestimate, when the kid communicate

To front out my style now would be a huge mistake

When you get caught slippin', I'm the slap in the face

To remind you of the way it was back in the day

This is the instant vintage, style that they missing

Surreal got it locked like some inmates in prison

So if you want to be down with the original sound

You gotta shut your mouth and listen

No question, no doubt I can turn the party out

Control the crowd with the verbs and nouns

Like "Yes, yes, y'all" it just don't stop

I spit box words to leave the herbs lip-locked

Write fresh rhymes like I kept them in a Ziploc

Put your gun down, I verbally lick shots

And formulate lines over beats' design

To make your head nod, and your soul keep time

So in each rhyme, I increase and climb

Plant seeds to fertilize and free your mind

Have a seat, recline, relax, and listen

I translate greatness over dope transmissions

Got young ambition, but old man wisdom

Don't get it twisted, this is grown man business

So, bear witness to the rhyme fitness

I spit with divine physics because I'm gifted, son

None but the sun, uplifted

I'm blessed, and you hear it in my breath when I kick it

Pen stroke, more precise than most

Although I would rather uplift the gift than boast

If I have to, I'll leave you still as a statue

In awe of the God-given skill, so perhaps you

Should rethink, remap them weak raps

I'm not trying to diss, but I've gotta speak facts