Sumthin’ to Prove (Remix)

Rodan - “Sumthin’ to Prove (Remix)”
[Emcee(s): Rodan]
[Producer(s): X-Ray Da Mindbenda]

[Verse 1: Rodan]
Yo, fuck the intro
Yo, keep crowds hailing me like a taxi
Learned there’s more to life than busting gats, B
How the fuck you gonna blast?
You ass like Andy Kaufman reading from the Great Gatsby
Relax, G, get gassed up or let your lungs collapse, B
Collect more gross income ‘cause my galactic rap status is tax-free
Wile E. Coyote rhymers copped your wack raps from the factory at ACME
Just the facts, B, urban dragnet, supreme architects serving dialect
Bell curve side effect, Caucus Asian, latter years
Coconut, almond, spiced Bacardi Dark, no taste for flatter beers
Fronting with your mouth open, let me empty out my bladder here
Blowing like Jon Faddis, atomic air traffic blacking out your stratosphere
Off the top of the locker
Cleats on the mic kicking flows, balling like soccer
Slow niggas rambling on and on incoherently like Chewbacca
Used to be on the block corner, snow rock, Betty Crocker
Chrome showing, dome glowing blowing
Jewels growing out the side of my crown chakra
You a killer gorilla or a babbling baboon?
Part-time wack-rhyming, no-bottom-line, circus-rapping buffoon
On some pop shit like a balloon, carry out paper quest to stay fresh
Stuck in a gay lifestyle, switching like Mae West
Wise winds from the East squeezing at The Beast and stray West
Gods locked down do the science and let the day bless
In jail ain’t nothing to do but work out, jerk off, go to war, or play chess
What’s your degree? Cop a plea, change your story like the weatherman?
Whatever, man, you ain’t fly like Rodan
You fly like Peter Pan in Never Never Land
Move mountains in telekinetic mode
Escape the straight and narrow, floating over your pathetic road
Rhymes written in genetic codes
Flightpope Ro’ perched atop
Five Pillars of Hip Hop, aesthetic soul
Come on

[Hook: Rodan]
Some rappers wanna make you move
Niggas and bitches shake and groove
Some emcees just show and prove
You pick and choose: win, draw, or lose
If you got nothing to prove
Lock down your niches, spit your groove
Take you on a lyric cruise
Rappers pay our dues, ain’t shit to prove

[Verse 2: Rodan]
Yo, peace while I rest on this pigeon whose back I’m digging ‘til Judgment Day
I’ll be my own Lord, Self-Preservation be my religion
Fly in the fastest lane chosen, wings protected like safe sex in a la-
-tex Trojan
Skiing uptown’ll leave your brain frozen
Gat explosion leave warm blood flowing
Internal organs exposing
Correlation to the cosmos, urban legends up the block, street theologians
Headline a bill, throw a jewel at your grill
Blackened steel bring the heat like military fire drills
Drop a bombshell for real
Units move half a mill, with or without a record deal
Still give these crab industry, En Vogue motherfuckers “Something They Could Feel”
Aviator wristwear, elevated textiles
Imported Timberlands from Switzerland scuffing up your reptiles
Niggas ain’t my son, Gods treat you like a stepchild
Take your booty wack sex style, flush it in the cess pile
Marathon lyrics corny critics can’t run the next mile
Abandoned outcasts in exile
Never seen again, tossed or lost into the X-Files
Sold Luther that 9 milli luger, attack the mic like a cougar geeked up
Got phony thugs scared to speak up
Make a nigga balls freeze up
Lay parallel to concrete, spraying caps, tearing your knees up
2000 years, we’ll reappear, change the Earth in worldly ways
Ancient of days, come to show the blind God in the form of a man
That is worthy of praise
Investigate doctrines, high awareness through my lifetime
Social issues that incite crimes
Make a generation of scholars live existence between the white lines
No more sniffing, saying, “Fuck a 9 to 5.”
Now all I do is fucking write rhymes
DJs scratch the wax like shaved balls
Rabble-rouser popped on like rebel slave calls
Navigate the southern state like maze halls
Chain shining medallion swinging like stalactites on cave walls
Bounce the rhythm like a tambourine
Step up on the scene with a monster theme and a third world dream
Impale bubblegum rap stars on microphones infected with gangrene
Deconstruct contemporary pop culture to reinvent my own mainstream
Come on

[Hook: Rodan]
Some rappers wanna make you move
Niggas and bitches shake and groove
Some emcees just show and prove
You pick and choose: win, draw, or lose
If you got nothing to prove
Lock down your niches, spit your groove
Take you on a lyric cruise
Rappers pay our dues, ain’t shit to prove

[Verse 3: Rodan]
Yo, my name was Rodan before the wack Godzilla blockbuster
My name was Rodan before stellar dust collected into the first star cluster
Set up shop at the pearly gates, move an ounce while defending ‘em
Cherubim on the mic, lyrically descended from Big Daddy Kane and Rakim and ‘em
Golden Age legacy platinum writer of a new era
Second millennium, triple CD blazing up like three flavors
Of tropical weeds when you’re blending ‘em
Connect ghetto slums to heavens turn opposites to synonyms
Bend grammar like antimatter, distort the space-time-rhyme continuum
Five Percent rhetorical, prophecies like an oracle
Bad luck to emcees like a Kennedy
Reach across infinity, reestablish my divinity
Between me and the eternally great enmity
Imagine a natural-born enemy befriending me
Offending me with what you pretend to be
How the fuck you a killer with blatant homosexual tendencies? Come on

[Hook: Rodan]
Some rappers wanna make you move
Niggas and bitches shake and groove
Some emcees just show and prove
You pick and choose: win, draw, or lose
If you got nothing to prove
Lock down your niches, spit your groove
Take you on a lyric cruise
Rappers pay our dues, ain’t shit to prove
Rappers wanna make you move
Niggas and bitches shake and groove
Some emcees just show and prove
You pick and choose: win, draw, or lose
If you got nothing to prove
Lock down your niches, spit your groove
Take you on a lyric cruise
Rappers pay our dues, ain’t shit to prove