Quakers
앨범 : Our Vinyl Weighs A Ton : This Is Stones Throw Records

I'm a fugitive running from my past
How long will freedom last
I'm swinging knuckles of brass
Motivated, hustle for cash
I'm puffing the hash
Leave a rapper on the ground with his jugular slashed
And laugh at him, it's humorous
A lot of emcees got one style, me I got numerous
I stand out so nobody's confusing us
I'm way better, cold winners, beige leathers
Black pistols, red eyes, blue jeans
White widow, caked up, new green
Travel across borders, across water
Being short on my cashflow is a tall order
Your style shallow like fountains where they toss quarters
Wishing away to be the pick of the day
When motherfuckers would care to hear the shit that you say
On show day you couldn't give the tickets away
Lose lose
I step through the door
Sharper than a blade from a mower
Success, you more like the pitch of a four
What a mess
I ain't gotta brag when I double cash
Come easy like a breezy with a treble pass
Still by popular demand
Return like a shirt when you wore it with a tag
Still clown in the C U T
Eyes low, Tae Bo, no S U V
CA to the D what up, talk shit
The shoe fit, equipped, get your toungue shoestring, damn
Stay sound as I crack jaws
You lock doors, we break through the bores in the drywall
By far we a highlight
You an extra, catch shade from the spotlight, right
No pressure, respect, just the best
To headline the field like rent from your next check
MED

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