Checkmate lyrics

[Intro]
Every time you make a good run at me
I just threaten your queen and back you go
You're treatin' her like she's the last lady on Earth
Your queen is just a pawn with a lot of fancy moves
Nothing more
When you see you're playin' a man who feels naked without his lady
Jump in there and take her... threaten her
And he won't be able to think about his game anymore
That's when you make your real move


[Verse 1: Boy-Moore]
Yo, yo
Is there any love in this world n*gga I don't know
It seems I got a lot of friends and a lot of foes
Steady rollin' my weed up, wit at least three hoes
Out of my day, summertime dry flipping i got it made
These n*ggas wanna parlay but ain't putting in work
It's like turning on your homies when you doing your dirt
Make you mad cause you one deep
In these streets thinking, "Damn, will my n*ggas really ride for me?"
A lot n*ggas try to act hard, but really weak
And be them same n*ggas at home that's losing sleep
When my gold Jesus piece, turn silver I turn my back on it
See I ain't with that fake sh*t homie
I keep it real, loose lips sink sh*t n*gga keep stunting
n*gga keep running, when them n*ggas on yo block gone keep it one hunnid
I heard 17 shots just last Monday, lil n*gga looked just like me
Baggy jeans, fitted cap, and a fresh white tee
Back in my younger days I used to rock it like G
He went to this party after watching this movie
That was themed by the same thing that he'd just seen
Actin' out his favorite scene, bad b*tches and cold drinks
But when you 19 you just don't seem to think
n*ggas plotting on your soul like they did at me
They looking for your gold and your jewelries
See they know you from the burbs and they think you weak
This n*gga pulled out a piece, and them shots rang out
Lil homie running scared shot dead to the ground
And these n*ggas foul, and that sh*t is wild

[Verse 2: Flowbot Jone$]
Get one thing straight, I don't spit lyrics I grant blessings
Socrates spirit tasked with asking grand questions
It's Flowbot Jone$, spit mo' hot poems as lessons
Number one, don't let short tempers run to long stretches
Two, there's more than red and green, see past the present
Three, use talent you blessed with, mine you'll never guess it
Keep C4 in my spine to make these chords explosives
Cause when you get dough a boa's got sordid motions
Keep toasters holstered, and ask you what it's hitting for
I spit him four, he heart attacked and hit the floor
sh*t his corpse, I tried to tell him these are death notes
And that spitting nightly, not like me, is what gives strep throat
But I digress, on to hormones and pheromones
Making whores moan and cause terror with Pharaoh bones
After our bodies make music, it's changing the sheets
But remaining a beast check the feral tones
Fangs, scales, claws, and all, swear that I was born from Smaug
Or born from God, but got a horn that prods
Scorned, never to mourn and sob
Exceptions all my tracks, my body of work's adorned in gauze