nod your head
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Let me kick a rhyme, now I’m feeling kinda loose,
I’ll put aside, my pleasant side, as I’m bout to introduce, the baddest kinda poet, ever seen with your eyes, up in here, and now you know it, so it’s, me, myself and I. Now I got, no meaty beefs, but that’s not something, you should quote me on, you can’t be eating cobs of corn, when all your fuckin teeth are gone. So if you’re second guessin, or stressin, then lesson on, time to meet and greet your teacher son, I’m Robbie-V, I babble on. All the true heads, not them but the other, I got to speed the pace down, help em to discover. I just guess though, maybe their sister was their mother, well the “hey presto”, Robert’s your fathers brother. Now before, you reply, you just ask, yourself why, does your brain move as slow, as a dead banzai. I’ll slap the colour, out your aura, cause a, black third eye, and leave your face, looking like, a smashed meat pie. If you, like the, way, that I spit it just, nod your head. nod your head. X4 I’m just that smooth, kinda mellow flow, be sounding soo nice, mix a little bit of talkin shit, some lemon and some ice, and serve fresh, with a lyrical wit, to make you think, beats shaken, not stirred, to tickle yourself pink. Which leads, me to the artist, that your ears can see, I’m blending samples, loops and broken beats, harmoniously. Liberating patterns made, and setting sine waves free, hereafter, beat crafter, sir remarkable Robbie-V. To check, if anybodys, respect, has been forgotten, these beats, they crispy fresh, and your sound, is squishy rotten. You best, get out the place, before your face, it gets a trodden, just take a look around, at all the heads, when they’re nodding. So if you get an idea, bright, to dis, or a set of fake decks, for your last, Christmas. Best get that chip, off of your shoulder, and zip up, your lip, or we can bop your head, with a lead, rhythm stick. If you, like the, way, that I spit it just, nod your head. nod your head. X4 I get you higher than drugs, and ladies pants get damp, I blow the cones out your subs, and short out, your amps, but this ain’t, no camp shit, because, I’m fucking in-tents, represent, the four elements, with my two cents. Now, what say you now, and now say what, you, I’m mustard kinda keen, I’m cucumber kinda cool. I be from, the northern tropics, way up the Far-Q, and I’ve been, rhyming on these topics, since you ate, clag glue. Now everybody, if you’re stuck, in a rut, stand up, maybe you frown, because you’re down, on your luck, cheer up. Maybe you feel, a little queezy in the gut, listen up, Robbie-V, I squeeze a trickle of lime, into your coconut. Don’t want no fuckin coin, or any spot on a guest list, I do this for hip hop because, that’s where my respect is. So tape your mates a copy, so that they too can check this, any luck you’ll talk of us, over the tables at breakfast. If you, like the, way, that I spit it just, nod your head. nod your head. X4 |
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