Lirieke: Jurassic 5. Power In Numbers. What's Golden.
Check it out now, I work the pen to make the ink transform
On any particular surface the pen lands on
The camera stands on, what's the beef?
The Cooley High, cold chief, high post techniques
I drape off poetic landscapes and shapes
Illustrate the paper space off the pens that paint
Then design what have a National Geographic a magic
With Taylor made status and plus favored is automatic
We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
We're not balling or shot calling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
Melancholy mundane, so I tame the hot flame
Big rings, fat chains and y'all quest for the same
No name, use fame, strictly new to the thang
We stay true to the game and never bring it to shame
We tight like dreadlocks or red fox and ripple
We pass participles and smash the artist in you
The saga continues, this I won't get into
'Cause there ain't enough bars to hold the drama that we been through
Yo, we still the same with a little fame
A little change in the household name but ain't too much changed
We in the game but, yo, not to be vain
I refrain from salt grains to season up my name
We entertain for a mutual game from close range
Steady aim, drum at your head to hit the brain
I'm labor ready, Rhode Scholar for the dollar
Work for mines pay me by the hour
We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
We're not balling or shot calling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
Hip-Hop
Music
Music
Music
Yo, well, it's the verbal Herman Munster
The word enhancer, sick of phony mobsters controllin' the dance floor
I been in dark places, catch you when you stark naked
Your heart races as we pump you for your chart spaces
The taut taces be bringing these hot styles through
Some of you bum a few chairs from shock value
Word power can plow through acres of cornfields
Paragraphs cut like warm steel, preform ill
We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
We're not balling or shot calling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
On any particular surface the pen lands on
The camera stands on, what's the beef?
The Cooley High, cold chief, high post techniques
I drape off poetic landscapes and shapes
Illustrate the paper space off the pens that paint
Then design what have a National Geographic a magic
With Taylor made status and plus favored is automatic
We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
We're not balling or shot calling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
Melancholy mundane, so I tame the hot flame
Big rings, fat chains and y'all quest for the same
No name, use fame, strictly new to the thang
We stay true to the game and never bring it to shame
We tight like dreadlocks or red fox and ripple
We pass participles and smash the artist in you
The saga continues, this I won't get into
'Cause there ain't enough bars to hold the drama that we been through
Yo, we still the same with a little fame
A little change in the household name but ain't too much changed
We in the game but, yo, not to be vain
I refrain from salt grains to season up my name
We entertain for a mutual game from close range
Steady aim, drum at your head to hit the brain
I'm labor ready, Rhode Scholar for the dollar
Work for mines pay me by the hour
We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
We're not balling or shot calling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
Hip-Hop
Music
Music
Music
Yo, well, it's the verbal Herman Munster
The word enhancer, sick of phony mobsters controllin' the dance floor
I been in dark places, catch you when you stark naked
Your heart races as we pump you for your chart spaces
The taut taces be bringing these hot styles through
Some of you bum a few chairs from shock value
Word power can plow through acres of cornfields
Paragraphs cut like warm steel, preform ill
We're not balling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
We're not balling or shot calling
We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in'
We holding onto what's golden
On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'
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