None Of That

Produced By: Mr. J
Album: The Anomaly
Track #: 18

Verse 1
I rhyme to show my mind is more than able
To handle stress and fame and remain stable
Like horse habitats as I spit battle raps
And still scatter facts like diced up almanacs
I stay on the grind like Starbucks junkies.
Yall love my style like bars love drunkies.
I get stupid on the mic like Dubya Bush.
I got that wheelbarrow flow; no trouble to push.
Rap similar to video chicks. I show my ass.
Yall sound gay. You are so Lance Bass.
So you got blue stones and your chain is two-toned.
But let’s see you drop a gem inside the booth Holmes.
When I choose to spit, the force from my lips,
Is like the crack of a whip, from a dude who's so ripped,
That the veins pop out from his skin to show them
The top of the pinnacle is where his flow's been.

HOOK1
Sell my soul for a ring? I aint doing none of that
Claim that I’m a king. I aint doing none of that.
Buy a lot of bling? I aint doing none of that.
I aint doing none of that. I aint doing none of that.

Verse 2
My rap book’s insulated so I keep the heat
To make the fans walk in like where you keep the meat.
Flow so official. Album should come with a whistle.
Break you down to the gristle with metaphorical missiles.
I’m strong to my finishes. (Think I’m not.)
Because all my sentences (be that hot).
They stretch to where Greenwich is. (It don’t stop.)
You’re in love with my penmanship. (And why not?)
When I stepped on the block, yo they ran from alleys.
Had them yelling like Lil Jon on Grand Finale.
Got fans from Japan to San Fernando Valley.
For putting VA on the map like Rand McNally.
The way I, damage your fabric, I’m similar to a moth.
My, lyrical magic’s attributed to the cross.
I been blessed with the ability to spit with fidelity
I rep for the real emcees who aint hyping up felonies.


HOOK2
Front like I aint broke. I aint doing none of that.
Make songs about smoke. I aint doing none of that.
Claim that I sell coke. I aint doing none of that.
I aint doing none of that. I aint doing none of that.

VERSE 3
You bammas sell lies like Muslims sell pies
Say you do it for the paper, but I’d rather sell fries.
Your persona’s a disguise
I won’t be surprised
When the streets find out and decide to sever ties.
Your life is a mirage full of self-sabotage.
Lose your soul to get hold of a Rolls for you garage.
Or some other shiny ride that will lead to your demise.
Flossing will lure REAL thugs to where you reside.
If you meet them guys
I hope you run and hide, instead
Of trying to be a G just ignore your foolish pride.
Only way to survive is to shed this whole facade.
Or you might find yourself right beside God
It’s the truth. It’s been tried
Still never been denied
No chain can improve on intelligent design.

HOOK 3
Talk jewels like a hoe. I aint doing none of that.
Play myself for dough. I aint doing none of that.
Steal somebody’s flow. I aint doing none of that.
I aint doing none of that. I aint doing none of that.