Stomping Ground

[Intro: Sample from [?]]
Come on, everybody put your hands together. Alright

[Verse 1: Akin Yai]
Sort of like Marvin with the brightest soul. I pack a hydro bowl
My life’s no stranger to sin, but I’m a righteous poet
Part of the globe know it, other half is sleeping on it
Me lyrical king. I’ll spill for my next opponent
They better step up on it. Mic in hand, I’m never tonic
Cats want to brag about wealth but now they’re scared to flaunt it
We got that real shit—no gimmick, genuine
That true-school hip hop ‘cause y’all too feminine
Chauvinist to abstract, I’ll backslap your wack act
Back to the future we go as we unroll the scrolls
Sent many years ago by the you-know
The true MC extraordinaire, mic avenger. We’re here
Little tipsy off the Grey Goose and drop of Belvedere—nah
I’m just playing. I rarely do liquor
I’m into sipping Red Stripe or any malt liquor
Take a closer look and you find that CYNE
Got a lot of rhymes, lyrics, sling no gimmicks
MCs, they go plead. Yo, they so timid
CYNE, we not borderline—we pros in it
Our soul’s in it. Plus, we got foes grinning
While damn most spitting, our prose infinite
We rude boy rap soldiers with no limit
Now I must be entirely too fucking nice
That’s my right-hand man—Clyde Graham be the Cise

[Verse 2: Cise Star]
I got the game on lock so hard, niggas, they can’t move
I float through notes while I cope, stole it and choke you
I’m so illness, throw up this shit in a sentence
Making heads 360 when I sit down to finish
Master to the teachers, skipped levels from an apprentice
It’s risky business—motherfuckers fucking with realness
I just killed it. The microphone just sputtered
The speaker just uttered that this one sick motherfucker (Alright)
I’m so on point, turntable needles are jealous
Half-asses niggas make up my burger, forgot no lettuce
Shook niggas are off-the-Richter, taking my picture
So abrasive, soft niggas are getting blisters
Leave you in shambles. Your silly crew manhandled
So goddamn you. The elephant logo will stamp you
You can’t find me—I’m a weapon of mass destruction
Never was in Iraq—I’m right here, you motherfucker

[Verse 3: Akin Yai]
I’m like Jason Bourne, armed with a microphone, strutting
Globetrotter mic assassin—can’t tell me nothing
I speak different languages. You saying, “Can’t we just
All get along?” You’re dead wrong ‘cause I’m Notorious B.I.G
For making headlines whenever I sketch rhymes
East to the Westerners fear. They all respect. I’m
Engaged in a lyrical war, Johnny Blazing
This Man got a Method. Your clan is half-amazing
Magnificent. That’s what I am and ladies love this
Brown-skinned nigga. Might make your lady blush like
I got a man like Kate, but she ain’t positive
If she’s feeling you or Akin—that’s so prerogative
So don’t be cruel now. I murder with the ink and
Every little step, I take this nigga place
So I must be entirely too fucking nice
You could tell how I write, you could tell how they fight
Man, I must be entirely too fucking nice
You could tell how I write, you could tell how they fight

[Outro: Sample from El-P on Company Flow's "Blind"]
I must be entirely too fucking nice