Chief Justice, Actual Proof, Locksmith lyrics

[Verse 1: Chief Justice]
Holy swagger jacking, scallywaging cowards acting
Like they running things they rapping like they really kings man
Wishing you was bishop but you rooks and knights
And that's a step up - you been a pawn all of your life
You playing dress up, you wanna ball beat off with your wife
And your ex box got yeah really thinking you nice
Watch the wet spot homie don't slip on the ice
It gets hot under all the makeup and the lights, for real
The puppet show f*ck it slow and make it last
Sing and dance, make em laugh, flash your petty cash
Yeah you dial the numbers I call the shots
Balls up, the ballsucking n*ggas call the cops
See I ain't slept in about a year or two
Got some things I'm here to do
Let me make it clear to you this ain't no f*cking miracle man
I make it happen fade to black and put the fear in you
You're lame and whack and say that rap and do some interviews
Haha, Chief Justice 'y'all

[Verse 2: Enigma of Actual Proof]
Supposedly they notice me
Maybe it's the ghost of me emotion, no poetry
Poetry I, keep the beat close to me "E"
I keep an extra line on me, ya can't "F" with me fine
Flow one of a kind nope
Find no one to rhyme with em
Post-poet I thrive on it show em divine homie
So slow when I rhyme f*ck it the flow timeless
Only dropping at signs I gotta catch em with they eyes open
f*ck it I drop the math cats can't categorize me
Facts riddled with riddles belittling simple-minded
Tapping into my spiritual, here is a lyrical monster
Past that point this pivotal figure I'm intertwined with
Past rap individuals too thicker to look behind em
Penning enters to rap, instrumentals to kill em with kindness
Big business I'm bout that dig it picture me shining
Peel back bills I'm stacking residuals in my prime prick
Steal that deal and stacking my pimping ain't even trying to
I'm sicker than sickle cell fixing to get that swine flu
Hard up as your chick's crib I'm fixing to slide through
I'm just trying to
[Verse 3: Sundown of Actual Proof]
Brian de Palma couldn't film it all
The rhyme books would give em so much raw to cook
That the shook ones would drop it out of fear
Put Kubrick on it
Turn and pivot
I never brought myself face to face
I make that eye contact back to that place I put my public image
Persona traumas I was split like 36 oz's in the brick
From the sh*t they found in Lulu's apartment in the movie
Don't slip it's called control sonny
And take money, money
Count it like I run the mint
And make money, money
Found that it was counterfeit
Fiat currencies and you're not
You better tuck that knot
Knots on your cranium brick, ha!

[Verse 3: Locksmith]
I don't fit in the box and I don't need a teacher
I don't worship other rappers just to get a feature
I don't toss a poem to come across as known
Or kick a whack freestyle and expect a pass cause it's off the dome
I don't speak for an arrogant cause
Or do self-righteous sh*t just to merit applause
I don't make scenes to be seen or cherish the gall
What you see as a skill, I see as a character flaw
I don't use a hype man or slight hand to buy fans
I don't scream to get attention through an over-hyped brand
I don't prostitute my talent for people that bystand
Or try to hustle other rappers more desperate than I am
Sell a verse, sell a hook
Sell a dream, sell a scheme
Sell a n*gga false hope you control his self-esteem
Let a n*gga talk sh*t, I don't panic at all
I just throw a couple jabs, Gucci Mane at the mall
So please tell me what is worse
A whack n*gga off the dome or freestyling off a phone reading his verse?
Was given a pass I ask you this first
What happens after you rap and get a phone call mid-verse?
Parasitic, acidic sync I been it
I pen it, I penetrate with a pen at bay
To descend and bait
My inner state is in the state
That in the straight, administrate and illustrate
What n*ggas take with haste till it's in his face
In the case where I'm in the space
Where my end I'm chased
My inner face is faced with the waste of n*ggas sending hate
Intimidating to n*ggas claiming contention
Apparently incoherent was air for my ascension
It's pinching a nerve ain't it?
I painted a pic cell
The pic sells, the pig sells
Of n*ggas that pinch cells, hell
Tied dog to a tree conveying this
Unleash him after a year and he'll stay in the same radius
Maybe it's in the water
Maybe it's just genetics
Maybe they love attention and rapping is how you get it
Embedded beneath the surface the purpose is unknown
You think this a joke n*gga? Get shot in your funny bone