| Parties all around start checkin for the substance
|
| The context you suspect, but I expect
|
| When Serchlite hits the break.
|
| . |
| headache, BREAK FOOL
|
| With the groove that’s strictly metropolitan
|
| Past go, I’ll let you go again the pen emulates
|
| What’s heard from the four wheel
|
| And Babyface ain’t never seen this crazy whip appeal
|
| Sealed with the hits and blow cause I got hits to go
|
| Fists to flow Michel’le Michelle-low under the mistletoe
|
| I let my missle go, yo
|
| Hands get pound, when it comes down to slick rhymes
|
| No respect in the deuce cool I’m vickin mines
|
| Burnished in New York kids that rolled diesel
|
| Kids swoll big like they were shootin up an AIDS needle
|
| So cling to your mom’s mammaries, calamity’s a remedy
|
| To recollect childhood memory lane
|
| Envision, the picture, the frame
|
| The beat that rumbles into the brain
|
| Stains grim gloom carefree feelin, up a buildin cap peelin
|
| Slash from the unwillin blastin off, passin off
|
| To the prevention, locked in detention
|
| Wielding fiends, your dome starts STRETCHIN
|
| To hit the hot spot, and stomp hysterical
|
| The groove that makes you thank God for miracles
|
| Pinnacles are peakin there you find Serch.
|
| . |
| hittin heads until the head hurts
|
| Migraine, motherfuckin migraine
|
| Migraine, motherfuckin migraine, migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine, migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine
|
| Rhythm rung gets designed for the kind
|
| That’s the deaf the dumb and blind seen here and stated with that
|
| And if you’re not gonna hit that, let me rip that
|
| Rhythm hit the rhymes, we give 'em, we leave 'em
|
| Then we’ll ghost to the most so the concrete is secured
|
| To endure, three-hundred and sixty-five days of the unsure
|
| Is the way the crumb comes clompin
|
| That’s why these boots were made for stompin
|
| Comp is little to none, when the riddle is sung
|
| When who is rappin no beats gets paid
|
| The answer as he gets sprayed by the kids who survived
|
| The playground, of the steel
|
| Who used a fat and funky, as a sort of shiv
|
| Deal to the crew that rolls in batallions
|
| If water was slaughter I’d have to order by the gallon
|
| Pestacides killed the pests, the rest are out the back
|
| Like sweats so jump out the projects, out the building
|
| Out your condo, out your crib, out your co-op!
|
| And let me rip the hip-hop again
|
| Oh shit, Skeff Anslem, he gets props again
|
| Let out the grunt, let out the funk, from out your trunk
|
| Feel the bass and let it PUMP PUMP PUMP
|
| Migraine, motherfuckin migraine
|
| Migraine, motherfuckin migraine, migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine, migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine, migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine, migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine, migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine, migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine
|
| I ain’t got no DJ, but that’s alright
|
| I ain’t got no dancers, but that’s alright
|
| I ain’t got no choir, but that’s alll-riiiiight
|
| All I got left is the mic.
|
| . |
| SO STRIKE UP THE BAND MAN, as I command man
|
| Float up the damn damn, wash away the flim-flam
|
| Knick-knack quick wack paddywack, give a dog a stick
|
| Then hop off my dialect quick
|
| To the throat I choke, I I need a Coke
|
| Cause I got somethin in my throat. |
| AHHA-AHEM! |
| Better?
|
| Let no one get no one up gassed here
|
| On the throttle catch a back of a forty bottle
|
| Models can’t roll put a toll into the parkin meter
|
| Crowds around two kids in a four seater
|
| Pack attack crunch from the boom
|
| To give a brother ROOM, TO BREATHE, LEAVE
|
| And pull the card our your sleeve, you’re free to roam
|
| As the beat hits the head until you gets home
|
| Migraine, migraine motherfuckin migraine
|
| Migraine motherfuckin migraine
|
| Migraine motherfuckin migraine
|
| Motherfuckin migraine migraine!
|
| Motherfuckin migraine migraine!
|
| Migraine motherfuckin migraine migraine!
|
| MIGRAINE? |
| MOTHERFUCKIN MIGRAINE MIGRAINE?!
|
| MIGRAINE! |
| MOTHERFUCKIN MIGRAINE!!! |