Truth on the Beat (feat. One Shadow)

[1: A.D. Carson]

Make no mistake, it’s about G’s.

Understand, I don’t give a F, it’s about ease.

About deez...flows I perfected—moment I Seized—

Guy that I be. And y’all ain’t really fucking with me.

It’s A.

Opportune moment for me to hone it.

Belly full of hunger, ain’t no question do he want it.

Every second dude is on it, man, he questions every second dude who’s on, and

He’s coming up with less than few responses.

I’m a let you do the nonsense.

I’m a lecture you to let you to the conscience.

I’m elected. A selected few I bond with.

A respected dude who’s honest,

I’m eclectic, too. I guess it’s due to Momma’s

Hectic rules and sketching through them comics

And them metric school responses

That left us to our lessons full of garbage,

That never taught us Huey P or Garvey

And were February sorry. Made we wonder are we even hardly

Better off than when we started being chartered.

I’m aiming for the godly—and not asking permission.

Dues already paid, but no matter, it’s intuition I’m listening to and giving to you

When I’m doing this here. I’m sincere,

Speak from experience—plenty sins here.

[Hook]

That’s Truth on the beat, and I speak his name

Even when I spit in the streets, you hear what I’m saying,

But do what you will with it.

I’m usually ill with it

And if I’m sick, it won’t even matter, you’ll still get it.

Plenty time in, and I’m still with it.

Still feel I’m fresh as a mint, and I still live it.

Still deciphering ciphers with real lyrics.

Still feel I rep where I’m from—and that’s Ill ****.

Redd Foxx: “Work me to death all week, and ain’t paying me no decent salary, and then go to a big party and ask your friends why do they steal. ‘Cause you wasn’t paying me nothing.”

[2: Truth]

Truth on the beat, so the beat’s gritty.

Congregation say ‘Amen’ like Meek Milly.

Each and every street, city,

State, country, who stay hungry,

Motto is ‘make money.’

Genetically, the pedigree is take money.

Since the Cortés, Columbus ‘nem, they was jumping

In and out of boats, cutting throats, taking slaves.

Getting Mondays off for serial killers who paved the way

For the Berkshires and Sam Walton, Warren Buffet.

Selling shares—ain’t sharing shit when going public.

Say Lebron rich, Hov wealthy, stitching envy.

Comparison to the real rich—they pitching pennies.

[Uh]

Sipping Henny got me honest.

Wanna sip it.

Shit’s watered down.

Have it straight, and shit, you vomit.

So, I pop snares, pluck basses, hitting chronic,

Like, “Don’t look at me…somebody gotta tell ‘em.’”

[Hook]

That’s Truth on the beat, and I speak his name

Even when I spit in the streets, you hear what I’m saying,

But do what you will with it.

I’m usually ill with it

And if I’m sick, it won’t even matter, you’ll still get it.

Plenty time in, and I’m still with it.

Still feel I’m fresh as a mint, and I still live it.

Still deciphering ciphers with real lyrics.

Still feel I rep where I’m from—and that’s Ill ****.