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To Ya Chest (Artifacts)

?Sahara zombie? Yeah For all those affiliated Yeah yeah Word is bond my songs ain't wack, and any nigga Who thinks that, they must can't rap, and can't get that I got dues with receipts, peeps who make mad beats So if you get souped, I add beef Commander in Chief of the belief fonta leafs burn slower The end knot mixin E&J with soda keeps me geeked up So if you got weed then speak up So I can twist up and leave you with that shit in tea cups We bust the raps that matter, while you battle Your own boys, just to check to see who's fatter I put it together like McGyver, bombin your rhyme cypher Helpin to represent funk like diapers I'm one of them prime time rhymes without rotation But I'm patient, cause Tame One don't owe no station nathan I'd rather hide my tape collection like I'm Nixon Watergate nine-six in effect, the deck's missin Crews get taken out quick, who's the best Tame and MC El bringin lyrics to ya chest, one two One two, Artifacts, nine-six My forms, patterns, some might think it's arrogant I'm transparent, but with lyrics it's apparent That I be the greater rhyme stater with the data Saturn Sega, player, wack nigga hater Instant flow, like five minute grits flips To rock for the Jack's haps be on some other shit Uncover skits like a private dick hits From all different directions, chop you into sections Like a jigsaw, shit be raw, rock for alla y'all tall Raps, and brawls, touch all jaws With the gall, foot in the mix like Hammer grammar forms Check the track, flip the song Hits From the Bong, wrong Side bumpin in your ride Graffitism tokin ism gaggin off the lyrical jism New Jersey native, creative with the sorts B-boy wishin for battles check the injury reports But there are no flaws in this rap lord's rest Open wide niggaz, we bring it to ya chest