Hit Em - Zion I, The Grouch, Mistah F.A.B.

Street blocks to tree tops, sweet spots found

The diction to detox, three Pac’s now

He walks with, he talks like me, I’m sound

Conviction to beat knocks, from my head to my cheap socks

Underneath Living Legends Reeboks

I’m bound to free speech thoughts, sleep around rocks

Volcanic or crack, hard to hold back

Go with the flow, know what you know and show that

Too relevant, but I go back like keggers on a hill, or five on a dope sack

Smoke stack, think Ac', shrink wrap

Rap with a shrink before you go and ink the tat

That’s permanent, life learnin' it, pat

Never wanna see the road turn into a track

I ain’t runnin' no game, small time, no names

If we one in the same, you gunnin' for change

Amp, Hit 'Em with a «one»

(Zion, Hit 'Em with a «one, two»)

Go on and count me in, now «one, two, three»

(Universal how we pen the styles)

(Amp, Hit 'Em with a «one»)

Grouch, Hit 'Em with a «one, two»

(Go on and count me in, now «one, two, three, four»)

They feelin' the styles

Hey, I got this Blues train runnin' all through to my veins

Slave ships, Middle Passage, crack cocaine

Ten slap in the 'Lac, corner boys ground packs

In the belly of the beast where the life go flat

But the music is the remedy, inhale my rhythm steadily

Perched on the curb, watch church converge

It’s the meeting of the minds, at time, light occurs

How we cultivated words like they sacred herbs

Put it in your pipe and puff it, squares can’t touch it

Rough and rugged, how you love it, with no budget

Independent game, man, with my slang tang

You can do the same thang, utilize your damn brain

Metaphors are mountains, countless bouncin'

A multitude in viewed, clubs and houses

We rain like fountains to wash it clean

I’m in the back with my mug on mean, my whole team

(Grouch, Hit 'Em with a «one, two»)

Go on and count me in, now «one, two, three, four»

(Universal how we pen the styles)

(F.A.B., Hit 'Em with a «one»)

(Go on and count me in, now «one, two, three, four»)

They feelin' the styles

Let the beat give life to dead souls

The rhymes turn wienies to rebels

The feelin' is a whole nother level

The drums, the bass, the snares and the treble

So let it go, count me in, I’m on all corners

Winter, summer, spring, then I fall on ya

My mindstate define great, the crime rate

Got me irate, it’s high stake, so why wait?

Move now, roll out

Hate it when Hip Hop’s finest sold out

My gold out, but I’m pourin' my soul out

I never change, only my shows get sold out

So, what’s the science?

Don’t be defiant

My music turn midgets to giants, just try it

Go crazy, riot, Grouch and Zion

Mistah F.A.B.

is who I am

Amp, Hit 'Em with a «one»

(Grouch, Hit 'Em with a «one, two»)

Go on and count me in, now «one, two, three, four»

(Universal how we pen the styles)

(Amp, Hit 'Em with a «one»)

(Go on and count me in, now «one, two, three, four»)

They feelin' the styles