Liquid (The Gadfly Album Version)

And you know, what kind of car they driving

They think that's hip-hop, that's not

That's not hip-hop, man, that's, that's, that's transportation

That's, I mean, when I started, man

You just came with your skills and that was it, you know?

I'm not feeling these cats, man, I'm not feeling them at all

I cause waves to crash land on land for sure

Trying to wash away this dry spell hip-hop been in for

Quite some time, but the tears of true heads keep falling

When they cry for real lyrics, what they get is MCs bawling

Claiming they reign supreme, but it must be in they dreams

'Cause only puddles of mediocrity they leave upon the scene

And if prisoners of radio could get out on parole

They'd see the airways packed and stacked with styles stole

Told by some kid on video playing dress-up

'Cause the label told him to memorize some demo

He said, "Yes, sir, massa"

Then watched me slap the ceremony out their master

Half an MC is half a man

And half a man has to have a mic-less hand and a mic-less stand

Scratched the DJ out your cut and replaced it with a band

Through 'bout twenty years span, I've been able to spread my wings

Went from unsigned to signed, my soul while angels sing on dotted line

While y'all couldn't back into a spine

And couldn't find no common sense if I had fronted you a dime

The rhymes I kick make the blind watch they step

See me running through your dreams

While you claim you still ain't slept

I make sure your quiet's kept even if I lose my voice

Rip a rhyme in sign language, this way you'd have no choice

But to feel me, we'd still be battle rapping 'til the night

Falls heavy on the sun and it's submerged way out of sight

I suppose when I get lost in flows, I got a one-track mind like

All I need is one track to run a fool out in record time

Staying unsigned's like writing without barging into the margin

The bigger your skills get, only then your name enlarging

I find when I get lost in beats, I'm left with writing up a storm

I drown a pad clothed in ink and bust with no fair warn

'Til it come up morn, I do what mic nights can't see

Incite my windpipe to lay the wack down in a breeze

Then come up Rose Street for she with my coast on Pacific seas

And my Tunnel Rat Gs, it's West Covina on these