Lyrical 300

(albüm: The Industry Purge - 2015)

And we continue on, William Young, Saigon, Loaded Lux
Lyrical 300, is where we hold them
This is where we fight, this is where they die

Yow, yow my spirit is unruly, if this was the days of your majesty
There be blood on the hands of every man on my calvary
Am from Kings County, with my 11th degrees say
Vale me and I ain't coming back in the king's hand
What is born, everyone of them gimme they mean mug
Imma backstroke, covered in nothing but king's blood man
I challenge anybody who think that they got talent
That's the greatest body, you dump them at Buckingham Palace
Them am furious, keep ice grilling is that serious
You crying but he's talking, ventriloquist
My cell phone keep ringing, am not hearing it
Your mistake thinking and am only your rap lyricist
Big homie sent me a message to call back
But it's name popping up and nothing but smoke caps
See a scarecrow, he see me coming and know black
Drink his brain out, losing the back of his straw hat
Willie Young
(Gang up yourself, but take some of those, everything)

Slay they said it was time to eat, so I turn the beat into sandwich meat
I put bread on it, these weak niggas can't compete
You nigga singing too much, and they got them dancing feet
I slap the shit out of them, if we ever get the chance to meet
Am a philosopher that shoot like a photographer
But my camera is a hammer, y'all don't want to collide with Ka
A colostomy bags, is how you go defecate
Always ready, only thing I set is the records straight
So go figure, or get punch drunk with no liquor
Just a overhand, right and a left vocal constrictor
Cock the calibre back, get the work in my magic
And I ain't pulling no rat out of the side of no hat
F**t... oops, I was politically incorrect
For I born for you to take it as literally disrespect
My click will be at your neck, you bring my name up
The proof is in the pudding, not need I say much
But if Blizzie was home, none a you dudes would be rocking these Cubans
And y'all be getting called up (called up)
If Stack Bundles was still alive, the whole cube battle be screaming (squad up)
If Sly Gillie is still alive, Slay still rocking, street sweepers in this bitch
Them niggas still popping, say something for their anniversary
Don't say nothing, just hand the purse to me
(Gang up yourself, but take some of those, everything)

This is the king dosage, the dope is hopeless in the ring open
Cutting off the rope and hope, and lead they dreams broken
Sting don't it, brief moments I take, they make you seen notice
Need knowing, wrote it for the street poet (keep going), the rappers can't survive
I don't know, maybe after am alive, I hear you travel when you die
Paragraphic am a side with no book full of plastic bag
Characters provide, your audacity go round like that
The Instagram might miss you, we go post you next picture at you candlelight vigil
And I might visit you, or random individuals, they get you a deal
Go I bet your wife put it in you, am way nicer than you
They hang you in the venue, my name will be continue
They got my favorite on the menu, That's work nigga
Do it till it hurts, no riddle
It's so suspenseful, church gatherings, earth shadowing
To dirt patches turn catholic, heard asking what they in for
The truth for thought no tin foil, looking at the world pool
I need to get my camo, my girl cool
She play her role, my favourite soul, could make a home
Or flame a stove for when the day get cold
O.G in his robe complaining about the cold
When that old brown paper bag, money one trader Joe
(Words unclear) brick on the track
(Go take some of those, everything)