Annoyed

Cvees (ft. Probe DMS, Swave Sevah, and Ike P) - “Annoyed”
[Emcee(s): Probe DMS, Swave Sevah, and Ike P]
[Producer(s): Probe DMS]

[Intro: Cvees]
Introducing (the magnificent) Cvees (Cvees) Cvees (Cvees) Cvees (Cvees). Yes, new hip hop (No doubt), new hip hop. Introducing Cvees (Cvees) Cvees (Cvees). Yeah (Cvees). Yeah. 1997

[Verse 1: Probe DMS]
Yo, reporting on the status, reporting the facts. I’m out
There like stratosphere. I like my mic ap-
-paratus clear. When I speak, I’ll teach lessons
And, during sessions, I’ll preach like an emcee reverend
And leach onto a beat, getting props from my brethren
I’ll breach your mental world and make fake emcees snore
Before reciting their next Calliope, they think twice
On the low, they have no variety light
Condemn music society (Nice) like propriety (Life)
Is what I’ll take soon as it start to inflate
Your auditory senses. Relentless is how the words
Speed to hit your face to make your third eye bleed
Yo, I heard your plea, and, nigga, you guilty. I should
Lock you up and throw away the key for your filthy
Mouth. I’m down south with all music I hate
So sit back and contemplate on my demonstration tape

[Hook: Cvees]
Yo, I’m seeking to destroy, I’m annoyed by the wack, lame
Rappers—they’re just toys that’s employed by this rap game (Yo)
(We’re seeking to destroy). I’m annoyed by these wack, lame
Rappers—they’re just toys that’s employed by this rap game
Yo, I’m seeking to destroy, I’m annoyed by these wack, lame
Rappers—they’re just toys that’s employed by this rap game (Yeah)
(Ayyo, we’re seeking to destroy). Yes, I’m annoyed by these wack, lame
Rappers—they’re just toys that’s employed by this rap game

[Verse 2: Swave Sevah]
Lyrically, when I explain all the anger that I contain
The explanation in my brain gives you excruciating pains
Brain storms and no thoughts remain. Speak of my heater
Which like a scorching flame, and then laugh at the loss you gain
I’ll be the boss of things when it comes to mic-cuffing
Calling your bluffing, reducing emcees down to nothing
Niggas that started something now a victim of the artist sudden
I’m stable but, still, I’m able to get a party jumping
And I ain’t hardly fronting—I’m getting sick of it now
All these heads getting record deals with ignorant sound, transporting
Keys and pulling triggers, getting ridiculous now
Need to be tossed, so we can step forth with original styles
The strange force you feel when coming to rap Colossus—hush
I ain’t with that chitchat—you’ll get pimp-smacked unconscious
Blowing up spots like missile launchers, twisting up ganja
Get stoned out my mind. Fuck stalking, nigga, I’ll haunt ya
I’m described as the highest of the high with the reddest eyes
A god is never shy in a fro—I’ll spend on dyes, and you’re
A drop-dead fly. Turn heads when they be treading by
While they’re sporting Jordaches, DKNY. But that’s
Beside the point. I can’t forget to let you know the half. You’ll feel
The blast like this bitch-ass. I went to school and ain’t passed
I’ll reach fast to outlast any competitor
Battle anybody, anytime, anyplace, etcetera
Commits to shredding ya. Ain’t shit that you could do to me
I’ll walk to get in tight in community with immunity
Your petty styles are losing me endlessly. I can’t begin
To take your ass seriously in this rap industry, but if
You really want to try me, then you could find me in New York
35 West 124th, equipped with new thoughts
That developed in my mind after puffing blunts and Newports
And niggas ready to rhyme to devour whoever you brought

[Hook: Cvees]
Yo, seeking to destroy, I’m annoyed by these wack, lame
Rappers—they’re just toys that’s employed by this rap game (Yeah)
(We’re seeking to destroy). We’re annoyed by the wack, lame
Rappers—they’re just toys that’s employed by this rap game

[Verse 3: Ike P]
Yes, seeing through you with
My yellow eyes, fellow allies decentralize. After
We floor them, chill with decorum ‘cause they decided to try
Stepping to the ones, we’re united, making ‘em cry
Mistaking you for an emcee I thought was kicking it fly
It needs to be divided between the ones that we comply
And the few that are wack that don’t apply from laws they derive
That’s guilted with the Prada products—lost, you have no proper guidance
Delete you across the guidelines, minus those who don’t follow mine
The rhymes be cryptic towards your mind from neglect-e-ful lines
Record could cause a climb, too nasty, edified at times
Control the time of rappers if I’m Kronos. Can’t even freeze
My movement with your photos—too mobile to hold up
Intolerable flows that you’re showing will make me regurgitate
We’re urgent to fakes at shows that we blow up. Artistic like
A graff writer doing throw-ups with a Krylon. With
My right arm, I’ll grab the pen and use it as my firearm
Metaphysical dialogue metaphors to a god
Only to be praised by the crews that love the style of this art
Emerging from cars, the mirrors. I proceed, deletes your whole drama-
-cracy lyrically when it’s stopping suckers properly
Provoke mediocrity, force them to step forth when they try it
Stopping their augmented challenge, sap you all of gallant chances
Faggot your stance is. Brother, a Joshua smothers your chances
Not heaven-sent, the writing skills naturally evident
Handing ‘em medicine. What?

[Outro: Cvees]
You wack mother..., punk-ass... Bring the noise