stream this song | open this song in your browser | back to album page | back to homepage The Ego of a Punk Emcee (feat. Meesh) Track 5 from "I.P.O.P.I.F." by proGrammar Grammar: I bust into the joint...it's just me and my man. The joint smokin' up the speakers like the joint in my hand. I said "Damn!", ate up all the freaks with my eyeballs. Booty label motherfuckers making calls on their phones playing the wall... That ain't my steez at all. I bust out the egress, down the hall, another wall-to-wall chamber. This one is much less lamer. Buckwild motherfuckers making shit that much less tamer. I notice a cipher, no two, no three and bet alla them are chocked full of wack emcees with close to no idea who the fuck I is. Me and my man increase circumference and get down to biz. At first we're cool; heads bowed down to just listen. Punk bitch after bitch firing blanks and just missin'. To keep from laughing at these fools is a difficult task. I wipe the smirk off my face then wipe the floor with they asses. It wasn't very tough to see who was the toughest and an explanation of events wouldn't do my shit justice. Let's just say: homies of my victims gave me dap after just a half minute of my fat-ass rap. I stay cool, collect a deck of cards from fools. "You should produce your shit." What's up? I already do it all myself... Thats why you cant even step. I killed a score of these yokels but still I got no rep. I dont get it, so instead I say "Fuck it," and chalk that shit up to the ego of punk emcee... Meesh: I bust into the joint... consuming way more than half. Pass it back to my man, wish it was Amsterdam hash. Fast...hit the bar for whiskey. Grammar says, "How the fuck these kids gonna dis me?" Sissies. Now I'm getting agitated. Slug another Maker's; way beyond faded. Serrated, vicious, seething, vitriolic. Anger's a bad thing in a raging alcoholic. Pause it... back in the cipher. Crackin' my mouth, spray the circ with saliva. Dick riders. Picked this kid with a cap. Knocked the rap out his mouth with a verbal back-slap. I snapped! Yo, I literally lost it. Expanded my attack into a mental mosh-pit. Aw, shit! One stepped up kinda hesitant. Reached into his mind and revived his speech impediment, for the hell of it. I stopped abruptly. Took a look around, "Who the fuck gonna punk me?" Nothing... Then this cat from the blindside swung and connected with a right to my hindsight. Aight... I hit his crew kickin'. Thinking that night while my wounds I'm lickin', "Sickenin'... That ain't hip-hop; forget it. Rap dis to fist? The wack path. Pathetic don't get it." So, instead, I say, "Fuck it," and chalk that shit up to the ego of a punk emcee... stream this song | open this song in your browser | back to album page | back to homepage