He’s meaaaan, and vicious
(Uh!) I can’t believe he’s that rude
To those stories, those rhymes, that Jew
Then he put ’em on the floor like cat food
And put ’em on the track like glue
Then put ’em on your head like hat, hey back to you, Lu
Black power, I’m just runnin’ with a barrel full of black powder
With a hole in it holdin’ it wheezin’ deep, breathin’
Runnin’ from the fire on the trail I keep leavin’
I can’t shake it, I swear it’s heat seekin’, I keep seekin’
Somewhere to hide from it, duck and dive from it
But it keep keepin’ up, just when I think that I’ve done it
It keep sneakin’ up, oh, leakin’ barrel of black powder
How that flame keep reachin’ us?
Just one of the long-winded, extended metaphors of Lu’s
This time I use an example of a fuse to demonstrate
How I can’t lose, I would put it down
But I can’t due to the glue that I use to fuse
Everything together, well, I spilt some on my hands
And goddamn, I might have to carry this forever
Well I’m crazy to the game till they bury me insane
There once was a boy that grew up on the west side
Of Chicago, liked his hat to the left side
Wasn’t in a gang but he was prone to bang
Doin’ his thang, doin’ his thang
There once was a boy that grew up on the west side
Of Chicago liked his hat to the left side
Wasn’t in a gang but he was known to bang like
Doin’ his thang, doin’ his thang
Truthfully, I have trouble with second verses
Cause the first one be so intimidatin’, it be bullyin’
Pickin on it, instigatin’, pointin’ out all the second one’s limitations
Like, “You ain’t nothin but a imitation, like, bits o’ bacon
Then he gets the chorus and the beat to get together
Then they all gang up on him and get to hatin’
But then around the eighth bar he tires of their conspirin’
Commiseratin, then he finds his inspiration
To spar, he takes a few seconds of judo lessons
Gets back on beat, then punches the guitar
They stand in awe, like, “When did you write that?”
They ain’t even right, black, first verse already happened
So he don’t have a chance to fight back, I like that
Abagnale Junior, check me, you gon’ respect me
Aight, ‘Trakk, listen to him, feelin’ himself
Swagger up and a few ad-libs to back it up (woo!)
Let’s back it up, I think you’ve had enough
Give me my mic back, you ain’t even write that
Oh, it’s like that?, ‘Trakk, stop pumpin’
‘Til this nigga stop frontin’,, yeah, yeah, now right back
There once was a boy that grew up on the west side
Of Chicago, liked his hat to the left side
Wasn’t in a gang but he was prone to bang
Doin’ his thang, doin’ his thang
There once was a boy that grew up on the west side
Of Chicago liked his hat to the left side
Wasn’t in a gang but he was known to bang like
Doin’ his thang, doin’ his thang
Oh my God, my perils and my odds
I ain’t really here, what you hear is a mirage
This ain’t the delivery, baby, this is just Lamaze
The ice cream and pickles, the tickle and a massage
The King Arthur, rhythm of the night, El DeBarge
The camouflage water in the distance, flogging a camel
To get there with the quickness, mean and vicious
Grinch Who Stole Christmas and hid it in the garage
That was a collage, a barrage, I brought all things
That seem keen to help this thing start
Jump, jump, my battery charge
I’m bout my green like string beans and beings from Mars
Its a mean thing to be seen with ours
Got that F&F on me, I’m a young lil’ thriller
I will resurrect, homie, come back for my killa
In some disheveled apparel with that same leakin’ barrel, it’s on
There once was a boy that grew up on the west side
Of Chicago, liked his hat to the left side
Wasn’t in a gang but he was prone to bang
Doin’ his thang, doin’ his thang
There once was a boy that grew up on the west side
Of Chicago liked his hat to the left side
Wasn’t in a gang but he was known to bang like
Doin’ his thang, doin’ his thang
It’s meaaaaan, and vicious