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They came from nowhere. They were emcees. They was DJs. They was graff writers. They was hip hop Yo, whether it’s Production, mic ripping, rocking cuts, or mixing If this shit is broke, then Akrobatik’s for the fixing Cats is lazy like twisting weed with seeds and sticks in Once the beat’s kicks in, you know the top picks in (What?) But I ain’t wearing nobody’s suit on Draft Day Catch me in some Timbs as I stomp through the pathway And when you hit me with the jersey (Say what?), make sure it says “Akrobatik MC Number One,” because I’m Worthy (What, what, what?) Yo, I’ll rip the mic absurdly, son My existence is a worldly one. I’m cosmopolitan Reach inside your wallets and support the cause Of these rebels without a pause whose lyrics crack jaws Step back, pause, analyze the scene. No verbal Drop kicks and multi-level optics that’s keen Glaring through any transparent scheme without an x-ray Enlighten entire nations, do it again the next day My text play an integral part of your awakening Shaking in your lungs ‘cause y’all just a bunch of pseudo thugs So while you do your drugs that make you believe you hard I’ll rip mics with squads that represent God (What?) Haha! Saki. L.I.F.E. Long, Breez Evahflowin’, Akrobatik Detonate that like: yo. Check it. Yo. (Haha). Yo. (Haha). Yo. Yo SongtexteThis Queens Buddha merchant walks with drunken monk crane steps On Detonator Recs. Make my way on Force through Air similar to my man based in Kunsan Beats us on hot, chop, toke, choke, then bath Through smoke clouds in studio bong fires. I’ll be the wick To your bomb, that explosive live wire. Stronghold Akrobatik, we ichiban. Our props earned Kihontekini. We from NY to the B-oston city L.I.F.E. Long, Breez Evahflowin’ clutching chromes With a five-handed fisticuff grip (Haha. Stronghold), Sound off, echo Across globes [?], crank this rap to crank Levels to increase the head bop, use fingertips to adjust Static’s musical renditions of hip hop We stay on our job Battle before dodging weak blows, survive alone Off the flesh of foes, “Hok2” words out. My bobbing And weaving leaving cats stuck, swinging nunchucks The slim samurai releases throwing stars and flames At accurate range at your stage, shutting down your sound [?] in Bean Town I think they know what we mean now. Huh. “So, what would you like with that? Some Saki?” Yes. It is good for my head. It will make me feel good. Pass that shit I’m afraid so He’s back again. Rappers lay low like I tackled their toe, flipped their frame ‘round. Ill cats None spat the same sound. I came to town Through the harbor (What?), astounded by the drama I seen Either color. I’m the service of fiends. This unclean Uncut—what?!? As if I ain’t dipping my stash, I got This bad beat whipping my ass. Present it with mad Rhythm and class, so pass the seamstress site When it comes to dropping lines this tight, aight? Light the first Dutch, spit at your chest, watch it go burst, bust, then Pull at your heart like thoughts of your first crush It’s us against you, surface dweller. Strike your peanut With the trident of the submariner. The prince of The sea since I’ma be on this scene For a minute ‘til this rap shit finish. Stronghold In the Lord’s most beautiful image. Scrimmages suck Set it up at your show, dodo. Step to super niggas Like Lobo every show we bless We got the Stronghold, woah, or strong O.B.S You know me as the B, the R, the E, the E, the Z, N Dedicated to my brother L.I.F.E. Long. Yes. Because now my head feels good. And I will continue to rock until... Aus Songtexte Mania