Pundit
JF-Expert Member
- Feb 4, 2007
- 3,733
- 123
Wakuu mpo?
It ain't nuttin but freestylin, drop yours for sure
But shyt gotta be pure manure
Let's go
I left bongo in my prime, commited no crime
Wasn't the dime, I could dine, but couldn't opine
So I double doubledecker rhymes
In lines that define the meaning of fine
Now getting mine, my time to shine, break that case of wine
They kept eyeing me, siring me
Wasn't IST, peeked at it, but earned the highest G's
And of course the bees, that be looking for the D
Yeah, the dilsnick, real slick, cause they heard its real thick
From hoochie mamas to real chicks
Slick shyt, misfit, I'm sick!
Fakers choose your weapon, take ya pick
Nicey Nikeys sneaks to kill the snakes
And get the big mamas to booty shake
Now I'm invitee, of posh commitees
Got beef with 'mentalists cause of the way I'm puffin trees
Where my crew at my dawgs, lil brothers and shorties
Making ends meet, or frustrated drinking forties ?
Without a college degree, or a pedigree
How can they up from this slavery, with a grateful glee?
Does the corner still exist or it ceased to bliss in a blitz?
Do the up and coming brother still chase a lil miss for the glitz?
No answers, many questions, guaranteed no pension
But they still got dreams of that mansion I mentioned
Am I going ballistic in this redder than lipstick cannibalistic
Western world, postal like code,faker than lipsynch, animalistic,
Like Gargamel, the truth I tell
On target like William Tell, with the veiled clientelle
Like Buju, when I return every war must stop, the arms must drop
Economies stop flops, fake leaders stop slaps
Is this wishful thinking from too much drinking?
Dead serious precarious, not even blinking
Bongo on my mind like Ray Charles and Georgia
Reminiscing turning parties out, Umoja
Nairobi to Kampala, Eastleigh Kabalagala
Now I turn to Jazz concerts in Valhalla, getting head in Impala
Is the name indicative of a tragic irony?
A braggadocios in dire need
Of wisdom, and some home grown values
That can't be taught by PBS in Caillou
So I resolve to involve those who revolve
Around the pillar of what is higher than the fiction above
A Sysiphean thankless task if you ask me
Like Jesus on the cross, why couldn't this past me
The mathematics, mad phonetics that I'm dropping
Is deeper than the deepest the five boroughs be poppin'
Stealing your attention with these Nostradamic stanzas
From here to Mwanza, you would think it was Kwanza
Back in the days, watch y'all eighties baby know
We ripped mikes, flipped flights and stole the shows
Nowadays different priorities, it's the paperchasing
A crib or two, a fine mami, and some pure purchasing
I done did the superstition, and all the crazy suppositions
Non Euclidean outlooks and all the positions
A revolutionary bongo style is born
I don't forget where I'm from, like Jason Bourne
But the pastor, be eating church pasta faster than a monster
While a starving congregatin talking about the master
I debunk the fake masters and pimping pastors
They're the real bastards fronting like ascetic Rastas
It's the way of the world, kill or be killed
Bill or be billed, deal or be sealed
But I refuse to play this game in disarray
I aim to serve and protect the intellect
Of the ghetto, the gully and the nonexistent project
Right and direct, to every juvenile
From the Hudson to the Nile, I flip files go extra miles
Out in the galaxies, clusters and superclusters
This is the real shyt, u can't get it from Napster
It ain't nuttin but freestylin, drop yours for sure
But shyt gotta be pure manure
Let's go
I left bongo in my prime, commited no crime
Wasn't the dime, I could dine, but couldn't opine
So I double doubledecker rhymes
In lines that define the meaning of fine
Now getting mine, my time to shine, break that case of wine
They kept eyeing me, siring me
Wasn't IST, peeked at it, but earned the highest G's
And of course the bees, that be looking for the D
Yeah, the dilsnick, real slick, cause they heard its real thick
From hoochie mamas to real chicks
Slick shyt, misfit, I'm sick!
Fakers choose your weapon, take ya pick
Nicey Nikeys sneaks to kill the snakes
And get the big mamas to booty shake
Now I'm invitee, of posh commitees
Got beef with 'mentalists cause of the way I'm puffin trees
Where my crew at my dawgs, lil brothers and shorties
Making ends meet, or frustrated drinking forties ?
Without a college degree, or a pedigree
How can they up from this slavery, with a grateful glee?
Does the corner still exist or it ceased to bliss in a blitz?
Do the up and coming brother still chase a lil miss for the glitz?
No answers, many questions, guaranteed no pension
But they still got dreams of that mansion I mentioned
Am I going ballistic in this redder than lipstick cannibalistic
Western world, postal like code,faker than lipsynch, animalistic,
Like Gargamel, the truth I tell
On target like William Tell, with the veiled clientelle
Like Buju, when I return every war must stop, the arms must drop
Economies stop flops, fake leaders stop slaps
Is this wishful thinking from too much drinking?
Dead serious precarious, not even blinking
Bongo on my mind like Ray Charles and Georgia
Reminiscing turning parties out, Umoja
Nairobi to Kampala, Eastleigh Kabalagala
Now I turn to Jazz concerts in Valhalla, getting head in Impala
Is the name indicative of a tragic irony?
A braggadocios in dire need
Of wisdom, and some home grown values
That can't be taught by PBS in Caillou
So I resolve to involve those who revolve
Around the pillar of what is higher than the fiction above
A Sysiphean thankless task if you ask me
Like Jesus on the cross, why couldn't this past me
The mathematics, mad phonetics that I'm dropping
Is deeper than the deepest the five boroughs be poppin'
Stealing your attention with these Nostradamic stanzas
From here to Mwanza, you would think it was Kwanza
Back in the days, watch y'all eighties baby know
We ripped mikes, flipped flights and stole the shows
Nowadays different priorities, it's the paperchasing
A crib or two, a fine mami, and some pure purchasing
I done did the superstition, and all the crazy suppositions
Non Euclidean outlooks and all the positions
A revolutionary bongo style is born
I don't forget where I'm from, like Jason Bourne
But the pastor, be eating church pasta faster than a monster
While a starving congregatin talking about the master
I debunk the fake masters and pimping pastors
They're the real bastards fronting like ascetic Rastas
It's the way of the world, kill or be killed
Bill or be billed, deal or be sealed
But I refuse to play this game in disarray
I aim to serve and protect the intellect
Of the ghetto, the gully and the nonexistent project
Right and direct, to every juvenile
From the Hudson to the Nile, I flip files go extra miles
Out in the galaxies, clusters and superclusters
This is the real shyt, u can't get it from Napster
