Without A Parachute

Intro: Awon
Man these niggas, just gettin on this fly shit, tryna be fly, they comin with that monkey shit, watching MTV, watchin niggas gettin they outfits, picking they shit out of magazines, lookin like a straight pop culture skateboard or some shit man, I've been fly since 1992 Polo Stadium bitches

Verse 1: Awon
The realist nigga in this post modern movement
Now everybody wanna be up on some cool shit
Still giving you the music you can move with
With all out tutorials to those who were stupid
Like, heavy set niggas in skinny jeans
Pop culture really gravitates to anything
Awon will decapitate any king
My goal in the game is to acquire many rings
Like MJ, age old sensei, flow caliente
Or Modo Modo, I'm so global
Ya'll niggas without passports is so local
Bitches think I'm an asshole, I'm so vocal
Energy kinetic, justice poetic
Ego trippin ain't never apologetic
Half of your high price outfits are pathetic
And black number 3 from 94 I'm the freshest

Verse 2: Awon
I never let a blog tell me how to dress
I was in low onesies, newborn fresh
Junior high was Pascal Guess
Tommy Hill stripes, across my chest with the LA text
You know I still caught wet like the boys club
Dismantle toy thugs like GI Joe & Transformers
Stay under the cheerleaders skirts like black warmers
Crushed the talent show even then I was a performer
So to all of ya'll who just started rhyming
Wait a little while cuz I'm not done shining
Good for me but for me it's bad timing
The underground in the street, niggas cosigning
The illest cat you ever heard call him Heathcliff
Trash all you riff raff niggas kicking that weak shit
It's no secret like Victoria
Niggas paranoid like the battle over Nas on they cornea

Verse 3: Awon
I'm paying all my dues without coupons
So I can pull up and ask pass the great group-on
Kneeling low when something when the roof gone
Top fold like a futon
Niggas just gettin on when I was on in 03
You know I stay clean like I got OCD
And A got them bitches back on OPP fam
Now niggas callin me an ODB damn
Sick lyrical, punchlines subliminal
Crunch time is minimal, no sweat for generals
Lunchtime is everytime I kick a rhyme
And find niggas with gourmet design to devour
Like hors d'oeuvre, understand four words
You will not win is a sin fucking with him, I'll push it in
Like a phone call, I'm tired of being on
The game I'm peeing on
Like toilet seats if you weak