lirik lagu the reavers – melody
the reavers (ft. akir, keith masters, goldenchild, priviledge, and karniege) – “melody”
[emcee(s): akir, keith masters, priviledge, and karniege]
[producer(s): akir, goldenchild, and bond (aka 007)]
[background vocals/harmonizing: goldenchild]
[verse 1: akir]
ask me how i’m doing with the music. you dudes, i’m
turning down the felony deals. a confused mind
and you’ll find akir intoxicating like moonshine
cinematic, dramatic theatrics with my new lie
pictures of a nice shot away from a 9 glock
from the sly pops to his son in a pine box
watch his soul escape out his eyes while his spine rots
never saw it coming like a run-in to your blind spot
direct, reporting live from the block where crime’s hot
it is i, akir, to flow and just love it
your chick jocks my c-ck in public. hit the show, uncovered
my music, so you dub it. all type of people love it
so my style is hard to f-ck with, cousin. got the street
buzzing. no type of budget. budging not part of
my thugging against the current gov’ment. yo, you must
be bugging. beats banging ‘til your brain gets bludgeoned
it’s nothing. writing ‘til my fingertips sunken
seven years in the making, won’t fake all of a sudden
got my n-ggas in the back, refuse to see me fronting
still humping like an x-rated old-timer f-cking
[bridge 1: background vocals/harmonizing by goldenchild]
[interlude 1: keith masters]
terror firma
[verse 2: keith masters]
so mellow how the fellow just hallucinate
he just trying to keep his mind in check like his other mates
on other dates, man, the boy just levitate
like a buddhist monk when he meditate
he in a different world, fly like jasmine guy
whom he had a crush on as a small fry. with his
widened eye aligned with the sky, he saw the
far side of life p-ssing him by. he getting
loose like the juice [?]
hermano, new soprano—give me your boots like
“duck, duck, goose. now p-ss the deuce” or
back in the days, “now p-ss the noose”
metaphysical truths uncouth. many heads in
just one roof. now stuck in the booth
plastered hand and jagged tooth end. i can feel it
yes, i can feel it. with each step that i take
i can heal it. the streets need medicare
but n-ggas swear by their own mother’s hair
that their man’s gonna be the next one to take ‘em there
but which way is fear, n-ggas?
[interlude 2: keith masters and priviledge]
keith masters: hah. yeah. uh huh. uh huh. uh huh. yeah, backwoodz. uh huh
priviledge: uh. uh huh. (haha) come on, it’s real ill. yo, yo
[verse 3: priviledge]
yo, live from death row, it’s the invisible man
manifest whatever i can from wherever i’m at
wherever i was. stupid is
as it does, but what about intelligence, son?
how ‘bout luck? how ‘bout genetics? how ‘bout
our birthright? ‘cause, you know, some don’t get it
just getting the slip down the path of drugs
and bad credit. smuggling anxiety in the pocket
of a petticoat like matzah in a ball soup
far few and far between—that’s you and your crew
that’s just the way y’all do it i guess ‘cause
sbarro different out in the illadelph. swinging
for the fences is the one objective
spit like the tet offensive. son, this
static ‘gressive. your rhymes are the aggregate
don’t hesitate, kid. i’ll find the magistrate
flipping like ferguson. i’m the one or
the other. and i’m stomping up the block like
a wild motherf-cker. m-er f-er
who done dotted this edgy, rotten sucker
[interlude 3: karniege]
bash your face in the pavement. you’d better be saving the mothers and the children. listen
[verse 4: karniege]
strap on your boots, put on your gear, get ready to move with me
ammunition falling from the clouds. it’s misty
watch where you walk ‘cause my turf pack b00by traps
snipers in the wing and they shooting with a steady hand
mommy swing her swords like a double dutch tourn’. i
spit out these bullets. your body get burned
did it for laughs, not the b-tter that’s churned
you soft like chinchilla furs, you heard?
don’t be in my face, trying to private-eye the god
can’t be held accountable for where you might slide
you ain’t no thug (you ain’t no thug). your flag is g-y pride
my moves big like godzilla. writing gorillas but we
peel that lizard like a banana with grammar
my att-tude is gta: sn-tch you right out of yours (yo, just give me that)
and empty your pockets, then escape through the floor
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