Seven (feat. Mic Jordan, Floe Montana & Chase Moore)

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Alumni

5:41

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They say I'm such a tyrant, I should be a Somali pirate
Plus I got a sound so large they call it Lane Bryant
You better remain quiet, I'm glidin' on autopilot
I'm a mixture of 80s drugs and Andre the Giant
The lyrics I display on any given day is heard
I give you the bird, but I have a way with words
I spit it from the gut, so my core is always sore
You spin a globe, that's how your ass goes on world tours
I incubate kids that'll imitate your nig'
You grill me, but I cook beef like Johnny Trigg
This is my lane, you lames are insane to test the kid
I came in the game to fix shit like it was fucking rigged
The feeling you get when you see a shark's fin as you swim
Is what it's like when I grab mics
And like Mike, I win

I jeopardize jester's lives, F your rights
Sex sells, strife turns record profits
I turn records off with disdain
Listening to kids with brains
Who switched lanes, 'cause spitting flames
Didn't get 'em paid
Which is bitch made, but makes sense in a way
When niggas who never ripped a stage
Is getting more fame, that shit is lame
And I'ma put a stop to it
Such awfulness, it even bothers optimists who thought of it
Y'all get ripped like men in muscle mags
Talkin' shit, I got something for you - get slumped
Dumped in soil, shuffle this mortal coil
Muffled so no one hears you
Stuffed into a bodybag, crushed and smashed
Cut and slashed
Ain't acting so tough and bad now, is you?
How is you gonna try to match wits
With the manuscript manufacturer most demanded by masochists
Savage, bitch, no peers
Snapping spines, taking payments
Foes revere the most feared mastermind making mayhem

Me, stylistically, the proper simile would be two mirrors facing each other
Meaning infinite wizardry, you couldn't mirror me
If we were born identically - twin brothers
Even if we came from the same twat
Your flame would never remain hot
F*ck your name, your dame, your brain's ashamed
You got your fame, got
Stone raider, got Cypress Hill vision
My mind's all over the place, is anybody listening?
I don't know for sure, but them two assholes in the back
Better stop whispering each other sweet nothings before I break their backs
Similar to the way Bo Jackson broke bats
And I know you hate it when we make them dope tracks
I don't know if you're aware, that this a known fact
We coming for our spot, we just let you hold Sac
Get it - hold Sac?

They ask me what it takes to be great, there's no debate
I just tell 'em what the real is
I'm in tip-top hip-hop shape, running suicides from state to state
Wait, wait
Lemme switch this up to another flow
You out your blood clot skull, thinking you could f*ck with Floe
Or Alumni, Levi, D-Konz
You would think I easily use PEDs on these songs
So I cheat on, in the spirit of B Bonds
This verse feel like the AC off and I done leaked all my freon
Hotter than Nino when Gee Money close up the spot
Then he stabbed Kareem's extremity right below the watch
What?
How do you consider that rhyming?
It gives me the Zs, like Zorro at an autograph signing
So be easy with that battle rhyming
'Cause when I'm fed up, you'll get wet up like Seattle's climate
Pull your bitch like the steering on a bad alignment
Give her that homework, since you don't want that assignment

Nah, I ain't saying that my clique ball
But in the mall, we blow paper like spitballs
Y'all lame fucks, step your kicks up
You small fries is squares, now that's criss-cut
Yuck, everything that I flow's sick
I get bucks and do it big - bold print
What? I'm the reason why they came
Your boy got line after line, like Billy Zane
Huh? I'm the shit, no toilet paper
Your kick game fell off - David Akers
Me? Nah, I stay with Foamposites
Black and white MJs, keep 'em in the closet
I know, I talk about shoes
But why rap about a game that I can't lose
Ooh, lemme take 'em to flight school
My taper fade mean, my waves like typhoons

If I'ma speak to 'em honest, losing is not an option
Whenever a beat is brought up, the booth get boxed in a coffin
I throw the deuce and say peace, but it's not an offering
Stop the talkin', mollywhop him till he probably hollerin' olly-oxen
You just be lookin' fake, I see you full of shit
You don't be pushin' weight, you just be pullin' it
The opposite of hustlin'
Ain't clockin' knocks, so stop the frontin'
Say them retro Js, but they knock-offs or somethin'
They're just like you, 'cause they're made a little cheaper
You don't kick it with the stars, but you'll wear a Bape sneaker
So many tapered lines, it's like a fade or a Caesar
I'm making my slice of cheese, but I ain't baking a pizza
Still, I'm so saucy
These women won't get off me
I'm trippin' 'cause I slipped a little pill into my coffee
I'm feeling like a million, in the building
I'm a boss, B
Toss me in the clink, I'm not singing
I ain't Jon B

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight - wait
Did I take it too far?
Ain't that just like Prhyme
Stepping over that white line
He ain't been in his right mind anyway
Since he was like nine
Sociopathic, no compassion for nothing bad that I do
My dear old daddy didn't love me
You think I need a fan to?
And you could ask the Manikins
How we could trash whole crews
But that's old news, and this is Ex-Lax
Get it, assholes? Move
Make room for my people to spit
Before we eat your weak little clique
My team's the shit, homie
Yours is just a piece of it
Quit speaking, prick
My legal dream team consists
Of a bunch of freakin' hitmen
That'll make your breathing cease and desist
Just me and six other psychopaths
On a Vicodin patch
You know what they say about white rappers, right?
For you, it's a white rap

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