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OG Hindu Kush
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Grey Alien Suits
Only thing i got for bitches is hard cock and amnesia
she blew for the white dot (blue with the white dot) like Bartholomew's sneakers
your girl humpin my leg? now you cockblocking my femur
yeah you see her- she lying- you do not gotta believe her
'cuz she got prominent features- a whole lot in her t-shirt
look so hot in some sneakers- cold rockin adidas
poke, gargle and queef her, you know the type that rolls with
provocative leeches that's blow-jobbin' your peoples
while sayin her tits are real... -but pardon? i see the scarrin
and post-operative features -you hoes not gonna see us
if me and Osa was reachin, the mic we Quahoggin (co-hogging) like Peter hostin' with Cleveland
just play it low like hard bottoms and cellos- Jordan V's is my retros
joyridin' the metro... we skippin' steps
like bar-hopping with streakers, chart toppin' with demos
god honest, i said so, god-body your reefer
and since only five percent of y'all cop proper sativa
ain't got five on it either- went bankrupt for the leisure
since we invested in the Bob Marley center for research
for you, she uptight- shouldn't be gossipin' either
you got a problem? - Oughta talk to ya leaders- pop lockin with creatures
watch ya body parts frost in our freezer
it ain't the type of flick that your box office would feature
we pickin' pockets- cross-walking with seniors
take aim at the youth... 'cause small coffins is cheaper.
shit ain't changed since the days of the stoop
and the labels ain't pay to recoup
since we spent our advance paper and loot - on Grey Alien Suits
and tricked NASA into making the space station a booth Stay caged in a zoo- ball hog with the cleaver
stay sharp on the court- play par for the course
got an arsenal for war like there's spartans at your door
so while death's at your back- we stay stalkin the reaper
it's out the ball park to the bleachers
we teach em how to pull cards- like Hallmark workers at Easter, son
seizures can happen if we keep on rappin'
it's not proper procedure to talk back to us either
knock knock, let's see if his snot-box is a bleeder
cuz you drippin- I ain't missin' no hot sauce in my caesar
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managed by Richard Branson- we surf the Atlantic
feeding the poor and famished, while planning tours to your planet
merge with Virgin Galactic, photon your whole song
traveled back in time and gave birth to this rap shit
foolproof Moon Boots, Bluetooth goon crew
George Lucas stormtroopers all useless, who you?
we shit on earth, so by liftoff we half as light
we orbit in space, playin skip rock with satellites
i'm askin nice, no mask and knife
don't make us turn your puny planet's afterparties to disaster sites
Spraypaintin ya roof, then i vacate the duluth
whole clique yellin sheeeeeit... like Clay Davis' crew
if lyrics come after beats, we stack paper for Boots
so go 'head, keep claimin y'all fake statements is truth
it's back to the basics, milk crates full of tunes
stay cavin ya roof, make craters and soufle- you haters is through...
our tours are live as a vacay with The Roots
so if you catch us at a show, we hi-hater your crew
bye, later, get lost...
why hate on our flaws? cuz we fly greater than you?
use skyscrapers as shoes?, my estate's in space
so from the tri-state to the blind face of the moon
we high raising the roof, if you rhyme great as my crew
we buy spaceships in two's- yo my spaceship's a coupe
and mine's spacious and huge - got five acres of room
you should try bathe in a pool with some primates in a zoo
Rocketman backpacks, we got that like school's in session
our tools and weapons, is ski masks for 2-11s (robberies)
three channel booster engine, pre-amps, for tube compression
so lean back and leave flat like two dimensions
can't work the boards? we give freelance computer lessons
remix ya cheap hits, and revamp the booth you step in
mortgage ya storage, and Re/Max the room you rentin'
C-Span for supervillains, recap the news at seven
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