Tekstovi: Shad. I Get Down.

Big ups to 91.5 live from cold k-dub
Just reminding all my guys in the world to stay up
Never had to spray slugs so I dont play thug
Or try to fit with the killers like O.J.s glove
Still cats love to see me like their own pay stubs
Out to create buzz
know that s.k. can shake clubs
like car thieves or golfers
crazy compulsive
cold killer so ill
Im giving competition ulcers
Fierce frenetic poetic pierce the pathetic plagues
My powerful prophetic poetics penetrate
This renegade relic raps rugged and demonstrates
How to scoop honnies with nothing but that angelic face
Aesthetic-based waste get shredded, I set it straight
For the hapless half-wit homies that hesitate
The hellagreat, elevated skills you celebrate
Practice??? Kid ive been this ill since seventh-grade
I dedicate this to my sis and the crew
Thanks for coming out but the competition is through
I get down

All the suckas and frauds with soft stamina dont trouble me
Duck or Ill damage ya on camera publicly
When I utter these subtleties
Brother please
Im the biggest thing out of Canada since Pamelas double-ds
Colleagues and critics all apply the accolades
To apply describe how my flyness fascinates
I activate the part of me
That advocates the artistry
The slick, sharp tongue
That would lacerate your arteries
Like an axe to the heart
Hackin apart cats lackin the smarts
Cuz Ive mastered the art
I synchronize my syndicate
For rhyme syncopation
Even skits that I improvise
Sit in syndication
Let my sinful syntax and simple grin flash
cause dimes fall victim when my dimples impact
Cats listen close for quotes or vibe to it
I school dudes and make guys students of my music
The dumb sound dopest with their mic lines muted
While my iq is so high you couldnt fly to it
I get down

My language is used
To bruise and stick damages to
Other bands and their crews
While all their slick managers do
Is just bandage their wounds
This man is just too sick for Canadas amateurs
I make em dudes do flips like coin tosses
When I rip mics like loin clothes
Stripped off a groin
Join the clik or get going
Kid your showing softness
I cross kids like Hot Sauce does
While imposters talk and jock like Bob Costas
This colossus is so pompous its preposterous
Im always jamming like Peter Toshs rastas
Getting the thoughtless tossed quicker
Than The Moffats in a mosh pit, homes
I get down like acrostic poems
My resources hold more forces
Than the torque on 400-horse Porsches
I contort, twist and torch kids
With my oral orifice
Til these dorks is nothing more than some scorched corpses
I get down

Its like Im squeezing a glock
When I creep in the spot
People get shot back
Freeze and then flop, breathe and then stop
The way I leave em in shock
Forget radio they play my flow on (Ripleys) Believe it or Not
But I still dont own the keys to the drop
Leasin to cop the beach with the yacht and dont forsee reaching the top
But thats cool cause Im frequently jocked from speaking this talk
Plus on the streets I get props
Well before I leave peace to the blocks
Where my people still beef with the cops
And get beaten a lot, it needs to get taught
And ask Kanye, Jesus can walk
Already reach for the rock, not the heat to get cocked
Releasing the shot, ending a life
No need for the pop
Ya heard? like sheep with the flock
I get down