Tag Archives: Rap

Yang

Stopping is the hardest to start, and starting is the hardest to stop.

Told my family I was going to make it to the top, like building blocks.

Then knock yours down, ’cause I don’t like sharing spots.

Put the spotlight on me,

I may reveal something you forgot.

BET I rip mics, and you run away.

Why do you get so high, only to still be-low me?

This Square humiliated you.

Now your living under a rock,

Patrick Star lonely.

Cold world but I’m just heating up

Bout to go HAM, like the other folk you’re just left over bologna.

Beggin’ Oscar for a wiener.

Feeling like the realest out, except for my twin,

He is a mirroring image of me.

I look in his eyes and see mine.

Your reflection is transparent, its apparent your soul is never present

Like drop outs.

You pretend and I’ll educate.

You have friends, I have soul mates.

You sit around, I bus through time like tour dates.

I’m sure you’d hate for to me to succeed,

I wont be greedy tho.

I sell you a dream for a dollar,

Then wake you up, like I’m one of Krueger’s kin.

Too dope for crack, and too ill for common colds.

Meaning if Common was as sick as me, maybe he’d still love H.E.R,

Instead of H.E.R lusting some these other foes!

 

-Leighrick

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How Many Mics?

Too many mics and not enough MCs

These rappers are still babies to this game all they spit is gaga..shit driving me crazy

How many carrots will it take you see, guess them diamonds really blindin and the cats got more than they tongue,

cause those grills got they mouth on freeze…and these lames still swagg biting.

Still Evil wearing true religion, constantly being fake like any implant on Nicki.

My words boom like echos in a tunnel you can’t help but hear my message more than once

I Do Right And Kill Everything I can’t help that my Young Moneys growing up.

Fuck Pink Dollaz I’m trynna turn the whole world back green and blue.

I write fire so flame is after my stage name like Wocka,

And record labels still handing out deals like candy..Willy Wonka

But this paper is my factory, and these beats are my workers, no machinery I don’t fuck with auto-tune,

just stay tuned into what I’m providing you to read, knowledge is automatic

Be ready to get real

Like the I in Will I can’t help but maintain being ill.

Because I’m sick of this so called music, and allergic to their wanna be attempts at lyrics

These rappers are all my children, they’re so full or drama my words making em young n restless

These lames are driving me Ludacris, I had to stand up for what I believe in.

Got them thinking I’m crazy, this exactly why I need a doctor producing a beat behind this.

All these artist so dry now, I’m parched.

I need some juice man, where OJ?

And since all they worried about are groupies

These rappers needs some fits man, where the Gucci at?

I wanna bring up the underground not that Illuminati, I’m not a mason just amazing.

I ball, these New Boyz can’t play my position,

Ima Cool Kid bruh, the Pacific’s not they’re Division.

I know writing like this can be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare ..

You can get real and join the circle or you can just stay a square.

Either way get real…cause every line is a step closer to my dreams.

-Leighrick

Genre Specific

I look left, everyone says I wasn’t right.

I look right, and it seems like there’s nothing left.

I look ahead, the clocks telling me I’m running behind time.

Instead — I looked up this time, and that’s when the light shinned down on me.

Often I want to drop to my knees, and bow my head, but gravity won’t let me know defeat.

I’m graveling

I’m scrabbling.

If this is my brain on drugs.

Killah California is the place to be.

Serve em up something street.

Take ’em underground

In awe holding your breath,

Racing your thoughts to your heart–

All while your body is trying to adjust to resurfacing.

They would never believe.

That these groups of misfits, outkasts, and nerds turned out to be so superb.

That we’re the ones igniting the flames in the core of the earth.

I wonder sometimes, are they really surprised?

Could the ice from the 2 chains really be that bright?

Those fans mustn’t really be too bright.

Wouldn’t have enough light if the sun son’d you, and

I amplified enlightenment through a projector and a mic.

I wish the government would kidnap Waka Flocka, and take him

to sesame street to spend the night.

Gucci down to my juice mane,

That’s that shit I don’t write.

Tho I don’t condone violence

The guns in the beat and my lyrics might.

Old Nigga, Young Money

Skinny Jeans, Thug Life!

Riding through the city bumping Nicki,

I hate my life!

Excuse me.

I was seeking Romans Vengeance.

I must’ve lost it somewhere with the other barbies and bubbles, while I was doing dishes.

To make it simple,

This is what my wish is.

Please make another genre for these characters, so

Hip-Hop can stop being disrespected.

 

Sincerely,

The Gifted Neglected,

 -Leighrick

Chain Music

Chain so big I c’aint pop my collar,

wouldn’t dare to sell yourself short,

but you’d sell you soul for a dollar.

 

Its all good tho, cause when they see you,

you gone have a chain so big you c’aint pop yo collar.

 

However, You see diamonds and I see blood.

You see chains, and I see rope,

so if you can’t hang with the message within the words,

you might want to cut loose, while your ahead.

 

You see grills, and I see a jaw wired shut,

another American idle, idle of a voice…

 

See the weight of that chain is not only allowing you to display your foolishness,

but it is weighing you down from what you’ve been destined to be..

Royalty.

 

See,

 

They’ve stripped us of all crowns, culture, and language.

 

Our ancestors have lived with the chains around their neck, wrists, and ankles

for hundreds of years, and sat in a lifetime full of tears,

just for them rust and break free.

Striving to regain our Royalty, but you refuse to be Loyal.

 

While you see Whips and Chains,

I’m only seeing Whips and Chains,

 

While I record our Mother’s cries of help, replaying them in my mind,

memorizing every note, reminding myself that this is the fuel to the ambition in my Soul.

 

You rerecord these songs, and reiterate to the world that your ignorant.

 

Think Free.

 

They gather you in groups, and now you’ve become the groupie.

They have that chain around your neck so tight, your unable to pop your collar,

As your trying to signify your dominance, your spiritually dying.

Yet you have fallen like a Domino, according to the set-up.

 

Chain so big you cant pop your collar.

Now the shades have come off, you’ve turned to me

Looking me in the eye, as they glorify the illumination of the hatred for your brethren.

Upset at me, because I’m free from the chains.

 

You’ll never be free from behind those bars, until you stop investing in cribs.

You’ll never be rid the scars, if you keep investing in whips.

You keep bragging bout your chain being so big, you c’aint pop your collar,

but you’ll always be at their finger tips…

 

-Leighrick