Wax Paper Envelopes - NIGHTWALKER

Yeah, clown ass mothafuckas

Couldn’t walk a fucking day over here

Yo, ayo, ayo

My home is where I’m getting head, that’d be New York

But I’m comfortable down south, like Peter North

I’m eating off these beats, I sell enough, my rent is free

So I’ll be banging on a triant ←-(?) like a fucking MPC

I’m tired of work, I survive, but it hurts

I’m live but I flirt with death until I arrive in the dirt

Inside of my earth, my cannibalistic ways

Over power, what society taught me, and in dismays ←-(?)

I’m lost and found, down to earth, went back from off the ground

While you watch sports and down beers, ideas get tossed around

Walking down the block with a fist full of 'Fuck You’s'

Mic check, one, two, pink shirt, plum shoes

You fucking faggots, I’ll smack you back to the Golden Age

You underworked, and overpaid, you sold your name

You on the radio, but I got doper shit

How are you gonna claim that you sold records, when you’re not the one who

wrote the shit

Ayo, ayo

I hope you take offense to this, cause this is herb shit

You won freestyle battle by spittin' written verses

You disqualify, you couldn’t win a free prize

Singin' in the mirror, tryin' to squeeze into your Levi’s

Heat rise, my practice is doing shows

You got a gig next month and you bookin' rehearsal studios

My ruthless flows will flood your painted landscapes

You made mad tapes but forgot to create a fanbase

I used to tag off the staircase and dip

Then eat an eighth of shrooms and make a face like «this tastes like shit»

And that’ll make me sick, I been sick since 1982

In real life I done more dirt than you claim to

I have absolutely no respect for none of you

If I kissed your girl in front of you, what the fuck are you gonna do?

Peace to those who got respect for themselves

And every emcee that can drop a dope record that sells