I take the break where it is, cousin

Cadence fuckin' Weapon

8 step programmer... Listen

Sleepers, hand them a pillow

Black hand like Gavrilo

I don't spit coke rap, while you gram into kilos

I withstand it for real, bro (yup)

And sure, I'll house you but I won't supply you a meal though

Not really, keep your points slow and to yourself

I dropped out with a 4.0, have a way with words

Heavy mental, gentle medley of every single sound sent to arrest me in development

I'm the intelligent black speaker

With a sound that bangs every relevant black speaker

At the Black Dog, their sort avoids me

In rap, future's blacker than airport employees

You're dead if it's fight night cause with feds, you're quite tight

Right right, you know I got you pegged like Light-Brite

I spit the sickness, your bitch is a split decision

I can tell your bird's lyin'

And I don't riff with griffins

Style soft like a pillow

For real though

Black hand like Gavrilo

I'm Bob Dylan on the fence

Will I sell out or buy in?

Either way, I'm indebted to science

Pyramid schemes with acquaintances on the whip

So I won't push this block unless enough money is spent

The kid was shook to scandal, the pistol grip pumps do work

Cause the vandals took the handles

Hope it hits you harder than an anvil

The way I wrote my epitaph date

On the face of that handbill

It's damn real, that's my space like the Jetsons

You're on MySpace with my line as a reference

Y'all leave hookers with a dime and your preference

I'm hard talk, papi, I don't whine or regret shit

A question: house or field? I field the house like the speaker

Plus I wield the joust for the weaker and the poorer

Hand black like the Moors

And I ran to the back with 7 years and 4 scores

Style soft like a pillow

For real though

Black hand like Gavrilo

I said "get' em" I'm done with dead riddims

The number one question is "Can the heads mix' em?"

I got vendettas with ice chains and grills

But I flame with skills that might pain your illness

Fuck writer's block, I block writers on the reggie larry

I'm said to marry fighter talk with the debts they bury

Like going to battle, they say the warrior's godlike

Which means you're a civilian, looking at a dogfight

Colder than frostbite, I walk in strikes and run blocks

Like Pac-Man but with more rubber then Dunlop

Who's grimy? Then again, who's rhyming? Ask your girl

She blew my tower like Boots Riley

And now fools, try me, catch 'em when their flow's dumb

Like it was '88, ripping Lee patches off of homespun

No one can touch' em, so I'm takin' my marker

To get my point across like an atheist archer

Style soft like a pillow

For real though

Black hand like Gavrilo