Utility Belt - Sandpeople

Who can oppose me?

Saliva that drips like Obe

got you open like the sex life of Kobe

We control the mic when I hold the device, your girl’s looking twice at this

lonely emcee that’ll only fight for his homies

I’m nice with a poem and only right when I’m lonely

Take flight, ‘till Phil Knight wanna phone me

Ignite, yo I get hype when I’m zoning

Strike like a Ronin when I roll in

I’m good for two things, mood swings and explosions

At this moment, both are being tested

And movin' to the exits, highly recommended

I’ma horrendous, endless piece of action on a song;

The question you never bothered askin'

With the wrong outlook, but the right skills to flex in

Our record set with this crowd yellin epic!

I cypher into cycles of psychoanalysis with calluses, chemical imbances balance

with ballads of assault and battery, battle with battering rams,

bats in the brain, and a Mic in my hand

Knock son

Quick to go off like a cop’s gun in the city where they pop nines ‘cause the

stop sign got run

No hesitatin' you brag about weight and ain’t got none

But if you ran as much as your mouth you might drop some

You know what we about.

This is where you get your plot from

Lack of climax a resolution to your problem

This music keeps evolvin', survival of the fit

But I’ma save my two cents ‘cause I don’t buy into your shit

This fire ignites, with the first sign of full moonlight

Nocturnal sun show gun with an insatiable appetite to rip mics with rhythmic

precision to spit this pumped up poetry the good lord has given

John the Baptist has arisen to chop heads with swing blades and guillotines

And beats are more addictive than sex, drugs and nicotine

More real than any shit that’s played on your TV screen

Gettin' you pumped up like steroids and creatine

Cause I does what I does ‘till I does it superb

I ain’t that white boy who raps that was raised in them ‘burbs

I’m that white boy who was raised flippin' birds

And in turn, what I looked and lived’s much different than yours

I was raised with those cats who would snatch up your purse

Take what you have to get what they feel they deserve

Then gung-ho, five-o, captain justice emerged and through the smoke immersed,

you could watch us disperse

It’s the gift and the curse of those whose born empty handed and at first I

wasn’t sure if I would be reprimanded

Stranded on an island of victimless crime or in my basement just lampin' with

my halogen lights

(?) stuck in the city’s maze, where we run the risk of AIDS and the next

bubonic plague

Money center stage.

My seven digits found well if you count the two that come

after the decimal place