Black Hand

I take the break where it is, cousin Cadence fuckin' Weapon Eight 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 seven years and four 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 gotta 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 god-like 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

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