Basic Procedure

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Your Son, Joe / The Beat

3:34

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Contact, we hijack and Boo Rad shit
Matty A drop the beat, be like "who that kid?"
That threw that fit, with doodads and a cool jazz flip
Like, dude, that shit's so hot, you better cool that quick
I'm on fire, not quite up in here, we're still down in the basement with young ideas
To slap you cocks in the dick, call it tit for tat
And serve your ass up for lunch, need a tip for that
Check please, Jesse's on a warpath
And the forecast calls for corpses, piled up like Cortés
Brought his forces across the borders
And upon his orders, all this becomes a motherfucking slaughter
I'm poorer than your poor, poor fucking me
If you saw what my Gramps saw, poor ain't a feat
It's a hard fought battle, what battle fought best
Than a battle that rattle that rattlesnake nest
I take it back to '98, I take it back to '92
Two-timing tapping on tape, refining what the mind do
I take it back to '92, when the pigs beat King and my conscious rang true
Young conscious say, "Dude, they seem to not care"
This CNY kid had seen, but now stared
And there's my next track, bam, I heard Zack
Goddamn, my whole fucking world just went black
And whirlwind of passion, spit shit for days
Like stick shifts now stuck in the sixth gear of Rage
With Wu-Tang engaged, as Funkmaster plays
The same kid's on James, with Cutmaster tapes
I've been here for years, for dog years and days
I dogeared the books and raw-dogged the page
The Beat, and nah dog you ain't
The Beat, and I gnawed on your brain
The Beat, and I need not explain
You're stopped at the gate, you're not on my plane
I take it back to '92, I take it back to '98
Kids trying just to find booze, this kid's trying just to find strength
I take it back to '98, when The Beat pants sag and I pantomime, wait
I'm damned it I do, damned if I don't
And damn your two feet, I stand on my own
I'm grown, motherfuckers, with Crew rags and flatbills
Do what you do when you do rap and have skills
And assuming this dude minds the tap still
Draft up another attack as your glass fills
You feel, but how you think?
I fill bars like the house buying all the drinks
And you can call me Finkle, Goldstein
This single's gone gold inside the Wisconsin state line
No matter if I'm The Beat, Joe, or J
Veto The Hyphen, no go with Tay Keith
Grown the greys, so take heed, you fucks
This shit's just basic procedure, f*ck
I take it back to '92
I take it back to '98
Two-timing tapping on tape
Kid's trying just to find strength

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