lyrics
[Verse: Notion]
I felt a notion when it crept in my hand, spirits lifted again,
Familiar when I spit it, & I did it, wit a gifted pen,
Just "leave" my emotions, im a sensitive man,
I'll have ya livin in a prison, wit no visits from ya fam',
(god damn!) i'll shove it in ya grill, eat the cold steel,
Mic contains raw lead, its poison in ya outmaeal,
From bytin' my shit, makes me tighter on the grip,
My environment elevatin higher, while you expire bitch!,
(oooh damn!) im flyin, shit, no-where to rendevous,
Be careful when im stompin thru, im watchin who ya talkin to,
I try to calm myself, & now im takin' a brisk walk,
Lucky this steeel's the outlet, for when I get pissed off!
(on target man) i'll show you im an arsonist, wit contraban,
& definately settle the score, like im the son of sam,
I trans-late the cold steel, to every palm of hand,
& show you expression of aggretion is in every man, damn! blam blam....
[Verse: Cee]
Yo, gimme the steel I'm here, it's Big Cee fresh from movin' the soul tunes,
Steppin' with Notion, man the crew finna roll, dudes,
Is buggin' like 'Jesus Christ', homie it's old news,
Need heat muhfuckas? Now you know who to go to,
Uh, y'all can't hold me back, cunts I'm raw like that,
Swag whatever like it's only rap,
Flowed 10 plus, perfected it but spittin' at half mast,
Preparin' for it since the kid was chillin' in dad's sack,
Peep the old shit, boy been sick,
Style is fuckin' bonkers, dog it's like this,
Name another cat period,
Who kick soul raps then bend back on killer shit, man I ain't hearin' it,
Fam, who I be dealin' with, uh,
I'm in the biz, I could review your disc and leave you cryin' like a teary bitch,
Gimme a pen and a pad, a keyboard and the net in the lab,
And damn it, cold steel all that's left in my hand, blam
[Verse: Theory]
Yo pass the baton, it's my turn to run it
The steel's in my hand, I got it covered, come and feel me fam...
I mean to feel my flow, it's just the beats and soul
The marriage of that which keeps it cold
You know I plan to attack, I'm always savage on tracks,
I tote a mic like I'm handling gats
Whether you spanish or black or be the whitest
The vibe is the same when you hear how tight it is
Man, a writer's a writer for life
Not a "rydah", a scribe, like I fight with my lines up
I'mma rhyme till time's up and don't give a flying fuck
If that's the only way I'm defined, cunts
The mic is part of my spine, what? It keeps me up
And also using it to beat you up with
I'm dying to fire it up kid
Be wary of the weapon if you're steppin' coz it's not to be fucked with
credits
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