50-11 Rhymes

Chorus

He ain’t no B-52, but he’ll run you right th’u
When DP coming after you, now what yo ass gone do?
You turned your back and start thinking he’s gone
But he got 50-11 rhymes and his rap is strong

Verse 1

Dropping bombs like Saigon, dope rides Great Adventure
U wonder if you still alive, so let me pinch ya
Couldn’t play the game, so Da Reapa had to bench ya
Sitting in the outfield, while I’m swinging for the fences
Ninth inning, in a fix, I’m deadly don’t you know?
Hit the homer like a Simpson, and I’m clocking his “Doh!”
First from the gate, steeplechase, I betcha
That they’ll call me Oshun for the way that I’ll wetcha
Carry a blade, snap a neck, just to reach ya
And roll with the ancestral force of orisha
Give ya cardiac, a secret Kodak, so take a picture
Stealth like Olegba, you can call me the trickster
Don’f fuck with the white bread, go whole grain with the third eye
Come anti-colonial like Jah Rastafari
Catalog of rhymes and you suckers be forgettin’em
When they thinking I’m gone
That’s when I commence to hitting ‘em


Verse 2

I’m sympathetic, empathetic, and I wouldn’t want to be ya
Manifest the hieroglyphic force of Husia
Step in the venue with the menu like a waiter
The rip-rhyme teacher be the verbal discombobulator
Lyrics be a strawman, I’m ‘bout to knock down
Rumplestiltskin, I spin gold records and rock in yo town
Connecting on the visual, elevate the true born
Rising like Osiris, I be the Lord of the Dawn
Most of these emcees be feasting like the cannibals
I be sitting on the throne of Rome just like Hannibal
Uraeus on my crown and Ma’at got the balance
Blood of the righteous, purified by my chalice
So all you whack pretenders come check the coronation
Star sign cipher is back, god occupation
Third eyesight say Lazarus done gone ‘n’ dozed off
Down three devils, three levels, three days, and rose ya’ll


(C) 2004 Nikitah Imani (DP Da Reapa)