[Intro]
It's your boy Nur
Groove with the beat y'all
Shoutsout to my boys in PGL
[Verse 1]
I be flexin on this fake gold chain,
What it states, is the saviour, that soothed all my pain,
Stop all the flexin for the gram,
Wanna be pop, stressing out for the glam,
Your moves look kinda forced,
Always with the groove, I have too much sauce,
I don't do lean on a regular,
I wouldn't want my life to move in circular,
Motion,
Don't want to catch them feels,
Smoke on the water, that's how I function,
I still don't get it,
Hip hop is a culture that I'm proud of,
While you phony asswipes made rap something to be ashamed of,
You ain't got nothin on me,
So get the fuck off,
You were probably browsing through YouTube, on rap tutorials,
Now I know why people switched your lights off,
You're the ideal joke that will make me laugh my ass off,
This shit I'm repping, for the real mcs, real fans out there,
Not for those with quick feets onto bandwagons,
Rich in history, much forgotten, now it's all bare,
Unappreciative of the art, they really don't seem to care,
I'm the fucking turtle bitch, and guess who's the god damn hare?
Turning eighteen, yet I still crave the innocence of being eight till ten,
I'm on my own throne when I have the paper and a pen,
I'm up in the heavens when I have the stash, an Apple with a hole poked through with a pen
Wait, I'm not done yet,
I have the urge to speak my mind right now
[Verse 2]
One thing about the Malays nowadays,
They can't see another being going through another happy day,
One by one,
Being eaten alive,
Either one of the sides,
They ain't got let this petty shit slide by,
And then time flies,
C'mon motherfuckers, do you notice it's another mother fucking cycle,
Brother's blood on they own knuckles,
The shit I'm hearing is more than some stereotypical shit,
These shmucks stay stagnant,
Then they land themselves behind bars, no bicycle,
Silly ass boys, like clowns on a tricycle,
We all the same race,
We ain't losing if we give each other some face,
Fuck all woes,
All you gotta do is just lace,
The fuck up,
Increase the volume of the beat,
Time to celebrate life, let's get turnt up,
If you can't digest what I said,
Forget my existence, to you I'm dead,
But if you really can't accept what I just said too,
You and me could rendezvous,
Below block 122
I'll then show you the light and how you made yourself a fool,
And maybe your tooth for a souvenir,
Makeup on your face, black and blue
I ain't got no hate for "bigo" rappers who claimed what they spit was live,
But I could kill it, impossible to revive,
A bunch of mainstream rhymes,
Head only chasin dimes,
Frontin with embarrassin crimes,
So what if my shit is scripted yo?
At least I've got the sun in my hands, imma drop hot shit on you asshole,
[Outro]
Ain't got time for weird flow and corny rhyme schemes,
I'm the prophet of the underground,
Horror awaits those who claimed themselves kings,
Get off Qayoom,
My words be the poison that rots your fruits and not make your flowers bloom,