lyrics
Scurvy D:
Here we go, drop my flow,
beat so good you tap your toes.
Ant polished off the Booker Noe,
Wy hit the bowl and lost control.
Forty Frames better than the rest,
forged refined by my boy Forrest,
occasional bleep from Xplicit,
DJ D taking double hits.
We all about the Mary Jay,
look in my eyes I'm perma-blazed.
Woods 08 with your boy Poody,
just how I spend my days.
Don't want no beef,
don't want no action,
you'll just end up back in traction,
I'll split your wig into fractions,
best to not fuck with my chillaxing.
Seven here mastered the craft,
don't dig us? you must be daft.
All our tracks bonafide blasts,
Ant it's lit, yo here's the pass.
Anthony:
Hacking up phlegm from the Lights last night,
should a spent more for the Turkish Golds.
Stripping dollar bills flooding both my pockets,
show her baller skills plugging both her sockets.
Run-and-Gun
Konami Contra
Blasting mother fuckers while I yell my mantra:
"I got big balls, I got big balls".
What?
Here we go, here we go,
Here we go, drop that flow Scurvy D be on a roll.
Fucking shit up like Stuntman Mike
Type the right line or I'm a read it twice!
Forrest:
Sounds resound, we came to get down
And we'll match your force back straight pound for pound
The time has come to pack your shit up and run
We spit the fire flash like the barrels of guns
It took you this long to take you to recall
You're about to fall and you ain't ready at all
These days I find I'm ready to design
Narrating stories in my mind
Make your move, we got nothing to prove
First rate, check mate, we got nothing to lose
Mic to wreck, green rupee on my neck
Music over image or cash, show me respect
To you it don't mean a thing but bling bling
Cranial radio impossible to be seen
Flow with the quickness, give me a witness
Get ready for the psychic fist!
Anthony:
I got big balls, I got big balls.
credits
from
Death of a Salesman,
released September 3, 2009
Scurvy D, Anthony Jackson, Forrest Jameson
license
all rights reserved
