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[Intro]
Yeah, kno'am'sayin'
Chief Kamachi
Section-8 Egyptian
Supreme Mic Messiah
Cult Status
Kno'am'sayin', Good Hands
C'mon DJ Primetime

[Verse One]
Yo, yo
Rainbows never gleam, three course meals grate barely seen
Black thirsty teen, scheming in jungle with dry streams
Everything is ease, when you ducktaping ki's
Walk off jeans, shooting three's in a hundred degrees
Dreams of living great on a hundred acre estate
Swans in my private lake lamping with mackintosh papes
Champagne suds leaving stains on my antique rugs
Love, bathe in custom made Japanese tubs
Relax, no more dice rolling and hammer holding
Index finger counting the Ben Franks and folding
Luxuries all I ever wanted to see
Plantation of paradise in a GS 3
In a cesspool of war when we professionally poor
Want more then the coin that Judas betrayed Jesus for
Last Supper dreams, oil refineries like Sheikh Ameen
Piranha's with gold fronts in shim streams
So clean strangled by black boa stretched beams
Thick with a Sicilian grip spoil my queen
Kingdom of drugs in a jungle playing with lion cubs
Out the badge boys camera lens that's eyeing thugs
Perfect, look at the oxygen I'm breathing worth it
Earn paper sperm let's pregnate my bank circuits
School slowly, my older parole the hustle born me
Packing a chicken nugget box the skies is poultry
Kamachi

[Verse Two]
Ayo, speech in the code of the street, the eldest teach
Don't season beef without heat, to properly prepare the meat
But some talk like tongue gun, related to someone
Iller than me cause of where you come from
Inner type you bad, but your cousin smuggle bags
The murders A-rabs, couldn't stick up a Hattian cab
Vivid image, see through you with that linguistic voodoo
Tryna hex us like Island gurus
Mouth full of violence but your action reflects silence
When your killers from Hollis
You need your Versace shoe polished
Abolish the rap, promise the purest crack
Half of the retail value to acquire right off the bat
Generals, no cadets, cadets, no generals
Tell the truth baby boy, you ain't a real criminal
Lies colorful like pilots, ain't nothing violent
Upstate was crowded, you was chef sissy tossing salads
Kamach!