Figaro For Free

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Pimped Up Butterflies

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Bro Sajeev, play that figaro track no
Eh no bro, play that Doom type track, that's what he was talking about
Oh lapse bro, my bad one sec
Watch this
Rigorously, rap fiends fend their trap beats, pen triplet feats resembling similar machines
Vigorously, the lack of a sizeable gap in artistic treats make signature mumbling cheats
Frivolously, a pack of rappers mend a lack of talent 
With a bag of weed with a substitute for heat
Indigenously, we Mos Def gotta have more DOOM, in solitude at six, penmanship  Figaro For Free
Little early in the morning, others hustling for sleep
I'm just bustling for beastly blows, morning prayer goes
Trees may grow, bear fruit, cycle follows
Weasley knows what to do with the sword that's found at Godric's Hollow
What's to lose, if I introduce a new style of rap
Take it way back to the old school, post two thousand and two
When most of you, young ones still snoozed
Who am I kidding, I was five too

We ride through the music of this city like a violent drive through
Commander K on the violin
Combining styles on the fly, for two thousand and twenty miles
This the year of the fucking Pimped Up Butterflies
We ride through the music of this city like a violent drive through
Commander K on the violin
Combining styles on the fly, for two thousand and twenty miles
This the year of the fucking Pimped Up Butterflies

As a kid, I had a big dream, takeover bid scheme
Music for the masses but the critics still deem it
Mainstream theme fit, but can still redeem shit, prodigal quality only few teens get
To emulate and penetrate their brainwaves and orchestrate a reign like Rakim or the Great Andre did
A jetstream amidst the country's rap scene as late as twenty-fifteen, I still spit bars clean
Arrears pending, this off the cuff from the heart, I'll take it from the start
Tired of spending time doing acts mired in a vexed never-ending loop of impending Pretending, contending
In academia, it ain't worth tending to, comparatively rap is macadamia
Ma flow so close to the heart, it's practically from the atria
I might as well eschew this analogical cashew
I'm usually logical, but f*ck truth, f*ck proof too, but mostly, f*ck you too

We ride through the music of this city like a violent drive through
Commander K on the violin
Combining styles on the fly, for two thousand and twenty miles
This the year of the fucking Pimped Up Butterflies
We ride through the music of this city like a violent drive through
Commander K on the violin
Combining styles on the fly, for two thousand and twenty miles
This the year of the fucking Pimped Up Butterflies

This a reckoning of the fledgling new form 
That we bout to use for enveloping this city's sound
Pity we found our voices this late, but our choices indicate
That we make for a great take on the bedrock of shared hate
For our lives, currently caterpillars, shattering dwellers, stuck inside together
Hoping to fight against the tether that's preventing us from pleasure
And we'll do it pretty fly, I'm certain of our style, cause it's pertinent to know that we just Pimped Up Butterflies
Yeah, yeah, Pimped Up Butterflies

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