Verse 1:
See me sitting, soaking up the atmosphere
Gaze around, it's crystal clear that the cash is near
Sweaters is cashmere
Fresh Js from last
Pillow cases like oil paintings, plenty Mac smeared
The return of Monet
Bitches charging at me trying to get wifed, I matador 'em like Olé
Sidestep, get out my face what kind of game you trying to play
Couple weeks back you were getting dug out by my ace
Now you
Say you turned over a new leaf
Transformed to a housewife, but you a legendary groupie
Loose Lucy
Trying to play mother Theresa
But on the low, you chasing Mastercards and Visas
This FIBA
You cannot kick it in my league
I'm busy with the director finishing touches on these scenes
Hustle I respect, but after neck I gotta jet
Just looked down at my Bulova I'm 'bout to be late for soundccheck
Outletc
Chorus:
The world's too much, until I hit the stage
Simple instrumentals send fans into a craze
Trying to get paid, forget a minimum wage
I'm loving every second, I'm praying it never...fades
(x2)
Poor man's studio in the basement
Blunt blazin'
I'm penning that Wes Craven
Horror stories
Lines born in laboratories
Final scene coming, I promise I'll make it gory
Scalpel in my pocket, removing you rappers' kidneys
Flow cold, touch my CD, you'll lose some extremities
By any means protecting those, that's kin to me
Got my diction from the circus, watch me flip these similies
24 hours a year, we on guard
Fake thugs toughing, want to show that their hard
I don't got time for the games, or lames that play 'em
More concerned with grabbing this mic and causing mayhem
Grow up, get out the playpen
Elevate your station
Worry about yourself, then you can stop second placin'
I'm just sayin'
DJ mixing, can't miss my cue
Throw back this brew
You know exactly what it's time to do
(Chorus x2)
Verse 3:
We got
Babies cryin', politicians lyin'
Litigation smokescreens, debt multiplyin'
Welfare line filin', nuclear stockpilin'
Domestic terror, self-poison, police with the sirens
Break free of the tyrants
Might even take some violence
Time to make some noise, nothing came from the silence
Church and state separate, but joined, like a hyphen
No face-to-face fighin' they wear ghillie suits, snipin'
It's nothin' new, paper, glass, cardboard recyclin'
It's all trash to me, you hear the garbage they recitin'
The bar's been heightened
So gone get to climbin'
Trying to feed the world with this food for thought through my writin'
Lately the state of rap is really scaring me
Less focus on rhyme, fixation with the melody
That plus the fact that I might not make it to 70
Time to hit the stage, move the crowd, soak up some therapy
(Chorus x2)
Hit The Stage was produced by SINIMA.