"Gourmet" lyrics
Get out the kitchen, *****
Cookin' in this mother fucker right now
Crack a crustacean, garlic butter and shallots in the basin
Weak line, cook serve Olive Garden patrons
Me? I'd rather rule in hell, sautés for Satan
Work Vikings, gristle on the apron
Hold down my station
Small potatoes like 7-Elevens and gas stations
Masked (mast) up, I can afford to be gasfacin'
Spit like a wine tastin'
Bust Mr Wayne, pistol-whip Dick Grayson
Never panic, walk patient
Pick up the shell casings
Leave microphone chalk tracings
Run Ds MCs like Jam Master Jason
And live forever in headphones and basements
(Hahaha! You're so dumb, you don't even see
The riches you're treading on with your own feet! Hahaha!)
Home Run Kings, rumor mill says our mics' corked
Allow me to retort, take them out the park (clack!)
Big green monsters get sparked for sport
Soundclashes get (fought?)
Smoke clears, stick em with the fork
Still tender, three-day bender
Bloody diamonds never lost they splendor
Go postal, Any beef: return to sender
Spin doctor, sick style-blender
Ill puree, over your head, skill toupée
Tattered fatigues with the knockoff AK
Third World classics
Like military coups, and better shooting thru plastics
Automatics for the people
Howardson's for the sequel, shoot till we equal
I made my bed but have no intention of lying in it till I'm dead
Blood scratching his head like, "I ain't hear a word you said"
That's okay money grip, just pass the Lambsbread, honey-dipped
(***** finna stay out of jail? Alright here you go)
How to stay out of jail: The simple answer, don't break the law
But since you're black that'll only get you so far
Better idea: Don't smoke in the car
And if you do? Stash the hunk in your shoe
Don't listen to your crew
They always get locked, fuck can they tell you?
Another thing: Cops come, you better run
It's not important if you dirty or not son
Chances are somebody with you got weed or a gun
And if they get away, Bo's gon' clamp you anyway
On some shit like, "Oh, that's how you wanna play?"
Cuffed up, crackers all in your drawers all day
Trust me, that'll ruin your day
Epecially when they say, "You fitting the description"
Welcome to the system
Cookin' in this mother fucker right now
Crack a crustacean, garlic butter and shallots in the basin
Weak line, cook serve Olive Garden patrons
Me? I'd rather rule in hell, sautés for Satan
Work Vikings, gristle on the apron
Hold down my station
Small potatoes like 7-Elevens and gas stations
Masked (mast) up, I can afford to be gasfacin'
Spit like a wine tastin'
Bust Mr Wayne, pistol-whip Dick Grayson
Never panic, walk patient
Pick up the shell casings
Leave microphone chalk tracings
Run Ds MCs like Jam Master Jason
And live forever in headphones and basements
(Hahaha! You're so dumb, you don't even see
The riches you're treading on with your own feet! Hahaha!)
Home Run Kings, rumor mill says our mics' corked
Allow me to retort, take them out the park (clack!)
Big green monsters get sparked for sport
Soundclashes get (fought?)
Smoke clears, stick em with the fork
Still tender, three-day bender
Bloody diamonds never lost they splendor
Go postal, Any beef: return to sender
Spin doctor, sick style-blender
Ill puree, over your head, skill toupée
Tattered fatigues with the knockoff AK
Third World classics
Like military coups, and better shooting thru plastics
Automatics for the people
Howardson's for the sequel, shoot till we equal
I made my bed but have no intention of lying in it till I'm dead
Blood scratching his head like, "I ain't hear a word you said"
That's okay money grip, just pass the Lambsbread, honey-dipped
(***** finna stay out of jail? Alright here you go)
How to stay out of jail: The simple answer, don't break the law
But since you're black that'll only get you so far
Better idea: Don't smoke in the car
And if you do? Stash the hunk in your shoe
Don't listen to your crew
They always get locked, fuck can they tell you?
Another thing: Cops come, you better run
It's not important if you dirty or not son
Chances are somebody with you got weed or a gun
And if they get away, Bo's gon' clamp you anyway
On some shit like, "Oh, that's how you wanna play?"
Cuffed up, crackers all in your drawers all day
Trust me, that'll ruin your day
Epecially when they say, "You fitting the description"
Welcome to the system
