The Words lyrics

Call me the rapscallionA rogue rhyme sayer single-handed battalionThoroughbred pedigree like a black stallionThe pale horse couldn't come close to pose a challengeAnd rappers pale in comparison to my stylingI'm dropping knowledge while they narrow minds popping violenceI listen for truth, all I hear is a calm silenceI'm looking for proof all I see is my mom's smilingBeaming proud ‘cause I stopped buggin and wilding, Everyman is an island – --I stand alone like the cheeseEveryman is connected separated by six degreesWalk the path of enlightenment down the road on we easeBy inches the gaps squeeze approaching our destiniesBreathe out in a cycle that we share with the treesAnd sway aimless like a branch catch the rhythm of breeze Always going but never knowing where fate may leadListen to my elders remember to take they headEven when you smile meanwhile somebody else bleedsAnd rose gardens get infected by weeds….Never admire desires over necessitiesI take time to balance out all of my
wants and needsKeeping time, I tap my left hand on my kneeAnd with my right I write a style that's free……….Running away from yesterdayTime is passing and I can not stayBless the children is what I sayI write the words and I give them awayI was born educated, I escalated to a Style that's elevated- - above the averageSuckas who never made it - still trying to show outBut I never paraded, it's kind of fadedThe way they stay jaded – from really knowing what's going onIt's like they stuck upon the same songI aim strong, above my goals because I knowThat gravity is pulling me back down to the floorSo I prepare my presentation just before I deliverPull another verbal arrow up out of my quiverYo, I'm a precious piece of historyPeople are still trying to figure out the mysteryAncient like the streets of SicilyI got the itch to be a high speed pitch fastball swing and a missBlacker than the abyss, and good for ya like a fat bowl of gritsI commandeer the mic and I spits Shooting verb
al knowledge at little kidsI use my voice box instead of boxing with fistsBut square up on a square when I'm pissed - So where's the listThe class is in session but weak niggaz is dismissedGo on back to the lab and practiceCounting my blessing on the lessons that I've been stressingLounging with essence guessing I've chosen the right professionGet up and motivate to the spot and I'm rolling lateBut anyway that's how we play out in the golden stateBig up my man he shakes my hand I pat him on the backThe salutations met with traditional wise crackAfter the laughs we get to business for the afternoonReach in my bag and grab the CD packed full of tunesTurn up the bass boost so we could feel the subs boomWalls shaking feel like the earth quaking in the roomMake a selection choose the dopest of the dopestFor the rhyme session beats got to keep lyrics in focusAnd vice versa, creating aural inertiaMoving forces with a purpose like fluid sounds to immerse ya