Of Course Not! (Demo)

Kenny Diaz ft. A-Butta and Wordsworth - “Of Course Not! (Demo)”
[Emcee(s): A-Butta and Wordsworth]
[Producer(s): Kenny Diaz]

[Intro: Wordsworth and A-Butta
Wordsworth: Collaborations, the symphony
A-Butta: Haha, word up
Wordsworth: You know, this was sort of like destiny to happen, you know’m saying?
A-Butta: I hear that
Wordsworth: Natural E, Punch & Wordsworth
A-Butta: Hahaha, no doubt
Wordsworth: Like that. Represent
A-Butta: You know how we do it, man
Wordsworth: Yo, like this. What up? Hit ‘em, A. What up, world?
A-Butta: I’m ‘bout to hit ‘em, I’m ‘bout to hit ‘em
Wordsworth: Yo, what up, world?

[Verse 1: A-Butta]
Yo, I’m like
A surgeon when I’m working mics ‘cause stitches are made, I leave
Inscriptions on the stage like Egyptians on caves, mentally
High, lyrics my lye, we’re getting lifted for days, pity
The guy who messes with I, leaving niggas amazed. Triggers
Will blaze up in your club for what? Someone sold you milk that’s bugged
I like to say, “Peace,” relax, flow, and chill. On
The real, I hope you wrote your will. I kill a first verse
Combine with Wordsworth, son, we’ll be the dopest skills
Come on, kid, you know the drill. I write a rhyme within
A second that’ll have y’all niggas open still, giving
Competition constant lessons on composition
It’s a resurrection for the hip hop Armageddon

[Hook: Wordsworth and (A-Butta)]
Yo, the
World’s small, only a few get chosen
The chosen few get you open, but that don’t mean I believe
That they’re making emcees who keeping tricks up their sleeves
What a web they weave, so I ask:
Will hip hop die? Of course not!
(Will the underground die?) Of course not!
Will all the dope emcees get signed? Of course not!
(Does the media understand rap?) Of course not!
(You don’t stop)—what?—(and you don’t quit), nope!
(So you don’t stop)—never—(and you don’t quit), what?

[Verse 2: Wordsworth]
As it
Been lately, showcasing ways to blend tapes
While competitors aim for each letter like inmates
These broke and hungry rappers wanna be us, they walk around
Town unlaced with their tongues out like Run’s Adidas
We’re present. To me, you’re past-tense. What I write touches
People I work with (Like what?) like sexual harassment
Beats, Rhymes and Life on A Quest Tribal
Around us, please watch what you say like subtitles (What we do?)
Deduct rivals, pin, press thumb, middle, index (And what?)
We invest and keep it in the fam like incest, then next
You percept a king to a point forever, follow me
Like, “Words, come on, man. Let’s do this joint together”
Bound to succeed, squeezing margins, grounded-up trees. So you
Think that you’re out to flow? Go ‘head, get down on your knees. We house you
Valiantly as much as we critique others
To the death ‘cause God forbid we fall off like the weave, brothers

[Hook: Wordsworth and (A-Butta)]
Yo, the
World’s small, only a few get chosen
The chosen few get you open, but that don’t mean I believe
That they’re making emcees who keeping tricks up their sleeves
What a web they weave, so I ask:
Will hip hop die? Of course not!
(Will the underground die?) Of course not!
Will all the dope emcees get signed? Of course not!
(Does the media understand rap?) Of course not!
(You don’t stop)—what?—(and you don’t quit), nope!
(So you don’t stop)—never—(and you don’t quit), what?