Slick But No Cigar

INTRO
Yeah, yeah D, what ya' sayin' bro?
What, slick, but no cigar
Yeah man, I'm gonna bang this in the car
Bang it in the bar, you know I'm sayin' star?
(laugh) what, what, yeah, what
Bluh, blaap...

VERSE ONE
They think they slick but no cigar
Chain smoking, leave ya brain open like a surgeon
My verbalis style is kinda fly plus it’s tight
So that's two types virgin, I’m like a whirlwind
Annihilating bricks like the walls of Berlin
We violate and kick like the cause of turbulence
And I’ll pause my sermon
Just to show you urban ain't some glamorized
MTV suburban
Where you close the curtains and your safety’s certain
Not a hasty person
I’m two steps ahead of these snakеy serpents
I’mma stay detеrmined
Applying this pressure when I’m playing
Your version of Chinese Checkers
Yo this ain’t the Plaza, this is Kingston, Cape Town
Borderline Gaza
This is four Rasta's jumping out of a Mazda like the Mafia
Mi casa, su casa, now I got ya’, bloodclart

REFRAIN
Blaap, blaap, blaap, blaap
You see that? Next round

VERSE TWO
Pop goes the weasel, I don’t fuck with these weasels
Featherweights, but they thinking they great, they unbelievable
They unconvincing, cockamamie and questionable
They poisonous, gasoline, petrochemical
Hysterical, regrettable and one dimensional
Will never have me thinking that I can’t be exceptional
The beat making rhyme slaying, permanently violating
Sex-toy bass drum, it’s permanently vibrating
Live verbatim, don't censor my discussion
Keep it Orthodox Russian like the church out in Flushing
Take a dozen of your cousins and I crush em’
Like there wasn’t repercussions
When I’m brushing on these top boy productions
I ain't anonymous, I’m fucking autonomous
And my self-confidence metropolis is bottomless
And if you think I’m sounding abusive
Catch me on the third verse when I’ll be back in like two ticks

REFRAIN
Yeah, tell them what happens when the smoke clears up

VERSE THREE
The smoke clears up and then a hand touches the mic
The people see the face and the crowd delights
They say “get em’”, so I go get em', Air Force
Stone denim shirt, denim jeans, you can still see the fold in em’
I speak words that’ll spray like petroleum
So don’t spark your lighter up on this podium
I’m from E.A.S.T.,
Already told you I’m a B.E.A.S.T.,
King of the Jungle
Lion, so bring your Leopards and your Cheetah’s
And your Tigers and Hyenas, but you still can’t beat us
I’m a King from the fetus until they put me on Venus
And blow it up into pieces and hand it over to Jesus
So don’t ever take my genius for weakness
I’ll catch you on the strip at three like some Adidas
Ain’t no conceited elitist
I just made this Autonomous music cos people really need this

OUTRO
And there you have it
Funky DL, what
Lenz, otherwise known as ESP The Overseer
You get me?
Slick, but no cigar
Autonomy, you nah' I'm sayin'
Yeah, yeah, yeah
We're just vibes'in