[Verse 1]
fuck creepin in yards, storm the gates 100 deep
who knew these cans of true blue was heatin thunder speech
old chicago role models was avacadoes and olives
throwups without hangovers
names older than gods is
where bombing's not a hobby, it's a habit
where addicts rappers braggin 'bout tags and dont know d**k about this graf shit
attack the metro track with fat cats for fadiic
gray-greens cant wait to see page versus daily
its on like lucky hoodies, what could he teach me
while you were sleeping, i'm teaching his kids, through grafitti
I have to argue, been rhyming this shit ain't hard to do
but technical advertisements on jarvis and harbor blue
outlined in summer squash dumb rock like darka tiger minds wrecked from running from cops
hoppin barbwire while you dream of being me between clean sheets
play the role, personality splittin' like mean streets
no room for bling blingin thugs and wack crooks
i'm tryna king the line bring ya drugs gear and black books
i'm in ya face in the tunnels and at the bruise spots
i'm on ya train insane to hit paddy wagons and rooftops
you heard of me
burgundy and outlines like murder scenes
germaneeds and ferns and flat whites for blurring greens
fuck over your heads man i'm climbing pylons
tobacco brown, montans, banana crylons
hit the red line, headlines fucked above yo
for those who must know
it's been fresh blue like rusto
[chorus]
"The mic's the spray can"
"Stay true to the art."
"Simple and plain, let me explain."
"This is a mission, not a small time thing."
*scratching*
"The mic's the spray can"
"Stay true to the art."
"This is a mission, not a small time thing."
[Verse 2]
I remember graf before more beef then hindu-sac relig
ay you right? fuck you, rap your fat cats from lids
braggin' on tracks how you snap way in the day?
masturbate to lies, i'm to busy shakin' paint rain
sleet or snow out to rock with mission's call
laugh at graffitti blasters
piss on permission walls
wrong side of the graf track with acid
3D glasses blast this shit backwards and graffitti blast the classes
after smashin vandal squads askin' what happened
i'm done rappin' colder than aspen to get your tax flipped
beef without slabs of me saggin' ya jeans
graf fiends scream for grif dip sticks, even ya tag is weak
this is for you who choose to rock lines
and toys with red pilots rockin' stop signs, stop lyin'
find ya itch, mind ya bitch to kick, bad habit
language visualize, content phat
mad graphic, pass the fat black as this cat snaps
and laugh at fashion fag writers with a fill-in
qwel villian, feels like writin' keep killin'
resurrectin' heavens buildings and bulidin heavens children
[chorus]
you ain't seen a frieght train straight aim with paint stains
or parked trucks framed in stardust brushed with fame flame
three cans of soul green sand and golden spray trucks
names dribbled down the yard, we hit the lay-ups
they spellin devils from high levels like it's a done job
couldn't mimic mr.straightlines on a etch-a-sketch with one knob
shy ills killin villians with fill-in illest noise rocks
toy scratched bombed the way out of this pine toy box
tag ya backpack straps it's past ya bedtime
heads find dead-or-alive this time to hit the redlines
the autograph slaughtercrap artists laugh at man's design
the last on society signed like pantomimes
buff the blackboard, attack it with true blue
no matter how you see it, you lose like flippin zulu
I used to paint my name on trains to get my thrill on
much love fucker but once was motherfucker, we still bomb
I wont stop painting 'till the world looks the way it should
I'm on a mission to make heaven look like my neighborhood
I wont stop painting 'till the world looks the way it should
I'm on a mission to make heaven look like your neighborhood
