Vocal Artillery

Hey yea party people,
Here we go Party People,
Rasta house.
Ya’ll want some more?
If y’all want some more
Let me here you say Yea.
Hell yea, Hell yea…
Party People,
Rasta house.
Tuna the smoke-jumper, packin my oral cannon
bustin from Okinawa, Japan to Laurel Canyon
swallow flows, we turning like plush tires
mellow intros lyrics be burning like brush fires
spreading vocal leprosy, using discrepancy
lyric weaponry lessens your chances of testing me stop and freeze m. c, I block atrocities
true philosophies from the lips of black Socrates
the pocket-penciler in your peninsula
killing Dracula mc who bit from my vernacular
I can back it. The ill scene we occupy
no lullaby, got you high, when I rock a fly
verse, for my people, let me breath slow
give a heave-ho, and stimulate your cerebral
system, Cut Chemist grip the fader
Tuna the group debater
we murder you duplicators
Cuz I’m an aristocrat, ghetto diplomat
and I’m blessed with a gift for rap
Its like that
They call me mister antagonistic, drastic
comin from a place where these cops get their assed kicked
the last trick unified was the cornerstone
but now a lyric pistol to the dome is how we warn a clone
born alone, the strength of god makes my mission higher
they found a liar dead, strung up with fishin wire
the mystifier packin vocal artillery
makin lovely word connections like Chuck Woolery
the cool in me, I’ll make your block turn on one rhyme
electrifyin like some nocturnal sunshine
the planetary pioneer and his mixer
Cut Chemist, Chali tuna spittin scriptures
paintin pictures, even sisters adapt cuz
we take it back like chiropractors
actors on wax make worse for real mc’s who worth your while
so they search for me the an aristocrat, ghetto diplomat
and I’m blessed with a gift for rap
Its like that
I the aristocrat, ghetto diplomat