The Shakedown

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Casual

In the European tradition, casual is the dress code that emphasizes comfort and personal expression over presentation and uniformity. It includes a very wide variety of costume, so it is perhaps better defined by what it is not than what it is. The following are not considered casual wear: more »

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That's real real, I love that
("It's my thing", "Hey")

I could give a f*ck who honey kissin'
Money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston
Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition
Conditioned, for all the
Bullshit you're dishin'

I'm about as hard as the times
I make mines off rhymes and keep dimes
To blow in the wind chimes
A Hieroller, you die young, I die older
Cy Young holder for throwing this heat
The air brung my tongue is shellac'n
The blood of the wack
It sharpens when I cut up the track
It darkens my crew is recon, who is he, Jon?
All in your bitch Louis Vuitton
For doin' me wrong
Pursuin' me to put two in me?
Won't happen like crowds booin' me
MC fabulous just bust for a century mo'
With ammo and dough in my peripheral
Here we go
You in analog, digital, 8 track cassette deck
Or on your little karaoke stereo
You get hands put on you
And DM my plans to all provide two
Or three hot ones in ya potnas
Huey P, Harriett Tub', carry the weapon
But y'all niggas scary as f*ck and
I'm luck up, tucked up, in the Bay Area cuts
Like what

("It's my thing")
Ay, I could give a f*ck who honey kissin'
Money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston
Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition
Conditioned, for all the
Bullshit you're dishin'
I could give a f*ck who honey kissin' ("Hey")
Money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston
Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition
Conditioned, for all the
Bullshit you're dishin'

My rap attracts and re-enacts the facts
That's just part of the art
Of the rhyme tactics
Get checked over the ice, I hit hat tricks
Hit 'em in the right spot in
They head and they hit backflips
My rap give orbit's to atlas
And balance with the stakes
That shakes the rattlers
Trees in a chalice, seeds in nursery school
And I'm still a father figure
To all you niggas
Who test the finesse of the
Fest or rest collective
Poetics, poppin' from the proper perspective
What's your mission? Boy, listen
Do too much more dissin'
You're meetin' the mortician
Stepped on and trampled for tryin' to gamble
I'm a prime example of a rhyming cannibal
Razor sharp dart, beams, and lasers
Aimed at your neck
To break off the ice glaciers
I use reflectors on your motion detectors
Stealthy, trained and wealthy
Gamed and ready to take names, check Zodiac
I'm like Shaq, when I'm rockin' the mic
Don't react

("It's my thing")
I could give a f*ck who honey kissin' ("Hey")
Look, money missin' makes me
Turn to Sonny Liston
Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition
Conditioned, for all the
Bullshit you're dishin'
I could give a f*ck who honey kissin' ("Hey")
Money missin' makes me turn to Sonny Liston
Mercenary on a mission, enter intuition
Conditioned, for all the
Bullshit you're dishin'

I could give a f*ck, haha

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