P.O.S. - What's That Buzzing

Doomtree crew, Rhymesayers Entertainment, we'll hang out here, do a little bit of that old a

Patterin' batterin'
Splatterin' words
Over beats
No dead chatterin'
Cattlin' sheep's streets
I'm rattlin' scenes
Drummin' the beats
To clear the breach
So fear can reach
The loose leaf

Yeah riggity
Rickety Pete
Cough up kings
Like who's sicker than me?
Spit up bling
And lumps of nicotine
You lung butter
Some on my tongue
With a ton
I'ma
Mother fucker
Mother fucker freeze

Promise of somethin' Geez!
These other emcees
Don't bust their seeds
They duds they wet wicks
Don't burn
Concerned for cash
They showin' their ass
Like gaucho pants
Like Graucho's stash
I'm livin' the matches
Out past yeah

Fuck 'em if they can't breathe my smoke
Fuck 'em if they can't learn to cope
Fuck 'em if they stereotype right
I'll rock the boat
Don't give a fuck if they don't
I don't hide out

No no no
I'll do me
You do exactly who you think you should be
No no no

This ain't a choice
It's a breathe
It's a blink
It's involuntary
It's swim or it's sink
For a stone like me
With the right amount of spin
You could skip
Leave ripples
Dip, live simple as a
Young cat
Road never play ya back
Black with a black flag patch
On my hat said