Emotions (Street Mix)

[Hook 1: MF Grimm]
Who will survive in World War III? (None!)
Who got a style that come close to me? (None!)
Niggas screaming “battle,” who step to me? (None!)
To all you fakers, it’s time to meet your maker

[Verse 1: MF Grimm]
My brain’s a freeway broken up to intersections
Ambidextrous, into music, also into drug connections
In the industry and the streets, I am the man
Take royalties by these kis, that’s 6000 grams
Now Grimm Reap’s legit, so I don’t drip or hit ‘em off
To my murder buddies, then I let ‘em flip it
You could tell a crew by their shoes, we wear ostrich
No lizards, diamonds on our neck and packing baby Deserts
Rappers think they’re all that and want to go to war
Fuck him, his crew, and everything they stand for
I’m the black Ted Turner, street money
Earner, United States flag burner
Battling me is some deadly shit, so come
Equipped with rhymes, guns, and two extra clips
Aim for the head ‘cause you don’t wear a vest there
Bullet makes a window, your brain needed fresh air
Manhattan’s evilest mind, platinum turnout
Before a nigga beat me, please, the Sun’ll burn out
Trapped on a planet of pain and perpetrators
That you call Earth, but I call Hell’s Equator
So it’s gonna be a long night
‘Cause I’ll fuck shit up like Carrie did to prom night
Leaving out the drug game and enter rap on
The top

[Hook 2: Sample with Scratches by Dr. Butcher]
“The more emotion I put into it, the harder I rock” - Sample from O.C. - “Time’s Up” (x5)

[Hook 1: B-1]
Who will survive in World War III? (None!)
Who got a style that come close to me? (None!)
Niggas screaming “battle,” who step to me? (None!)
To all you fakers, it’s time to meet your maker

[Verse 2: B-1]
From
The streets, I got mental war scars. Back in the
Days, I used to want to be a Juice Crew All-Star
But, yo, my dream didn’t fade. Now me touching the mic
Is like the Knicks getting Jordan on a trade
One represents for the scramblers and money-handlers
The type of shit that goes on in the streets is scandalous
I’m from Northside Jamaica, the money-raker
I’m trying to get it up so I can buy an acre. It’s
The ill nigga One, and, where I’m from, shit is real
Guzzling ale, waiting for the next sale
Sometimes shots are fired, fiends are wired, sending
Decoy buyers ‘cause they always want to try us. I’m from
Right next door, so I’m your neighbor with rusty razors
800 pagers and other assorted flavors—it’s a
Queens thing. I love the money the fiends bring
Then jet to the strip joint to see the freaks in the G-string
I got connects from Queens to Manhattan, pockets stay
Fat and niggas ratting, mics get laced like satin
Taxes I’m evading in my quest to get paid
To God I pray, then blew him with the rusty tip of my blade
‘Cause I’m stressed, but with the gift of poetry I’ve been blessed
So I’ll never give the paper and the ink rest
Leaving out the drug game to enter rap on
The top

[Hook 2: Sample with Scratches by Dr. Butcher]
“The more emotion I put into it, the harder I rock” - Sample from O.C. - “Time’s Up” (x9)

[Verse 3: MF Grimm]
Ayyo, there’s only
One way to go out, and that’s with a bang. It’s a
Fucked-up world, so I do fucked-up things, and I’m
Born angry, I won’t die nice, the black Vincent
Price, preserve my brain with Einstein’s on dry ice
Conflicters think the pain contract boa constrictors
Style appetite devour humans in sight like Lecter
Battle of the flow of the maniacs, but the maniacs
Lack the bigger brain I pack, and plus their flow is wack
Beating me in my world is hard to do
(But why?) ‘Cause my shit is fat, and that’s hard to chew
(Oh) And even harder to swallow
So bleed like Creed, yeah, die like Apollo, and all
Who follow, bullet attack the brain and leave the head hollow
Here today, but just like that, you’re dead tomorrow
Leave the drug game and enter rap music on
The top

[Hook 2: Sample with Scratches by Dr. Butcher]
“The more emotion I put into it, the harder I rock” - Sample from O.C. - “Time’s Up” (x9)