True Confessions

Yeah… it’s all I’ve been waiting for, shit
What? What? What? What? -Yeah, check it, right here right now
You know I’m sayin'? Imam Thug, what? Wha-wha-wha-wha-what-
Imam Thug, 2−5-2 across the planet
Khadafi got shit, might gon' tell it in yo' merit
Told me everything that you said, dirty bastard
Sat back laughin', can’t believe these niggas askin'
Still listenin', got the pot for 'em to piss in
Secluded mission, on admissable conviction
To offer scalp stashin' on my couch, it won’t surprise me
Petty cash kids stash, drop Maserati hash
Blaze it up little man for past
Freddie Krueger tragedy, twenty year capacity
Hold dat up on your shoulders, million dollar boulders
What nigga? -Gettin' down for my weed-holders
Title be 2−5-2, exclude you, come together like dimepieces on Rocka jewels
Yo, exotically I hold Gats, melodically bust raps
Part of me lusts for AC’s with the wings in the back
Besides that I overthrow the Jakes just to free blacks
Clappin' CO’s, bustin' PO’s in they kneecaps
Love Allah most, like a child playin' in his moms clothes
Or a newborn thug holdin' the chrome toast
In a duplex sunset, callin' a Fatiha
When I have sex, ma, it’s like the Mardi Gras
Illumini — visualize I Selassie I
Thuggin' til the day I die, swervin' in the Third Eye
This world is foul, and we get high, this why we steady drinkin'
Locked in the beast, I’m in the cell and anxious, got me thinkin'
Who needs to go to work, I’d rather hustle for my dolla
Niggas is starvin' in these streets
And I just wanna holler
I’m a thug and I just don’t wanna stop
I’m a thug and I just don’t wanna stop
Shit is too much, shit is too much
Yo, peep the paradoxical hydroponical rap style
Like botanical — animal thugs in exile
Grey smoke from a cop’s Glock, five gunshots
Chalk circles all on the block, that’s where my body dropped
Shaking like a pregnant coke-head
I’m up for two nights, sweating like Peruvian cats pullin' a jewel heist
Battle of the beasts, defeatin' niggas for five nights
I’m too nice, like a Christian fed with true lies
The embassy-type of rap cat, pushin' a black Ac
Aristocrat Third World stat guerilla diplomat
I’m deep like a Socrates, foul like atrocities
My degrees date to B.C.'s, twelve dynasties
A member of the Last Supper, original disciple
A archangel like Michael, holdin' a rifle
So what the fuck you’re tryna tell me like Dru Hill?
My neck gross is four mil', nigga it’s all real
I’m clear like the waters in the Blue Nile, it’s too foul
Got to drop on you, dunny, what you gonna do now?