In the Pocket Songtext
von Statik Selektah
In the Pocket Songtext
Check, check, check, check
Yeah
Statik Selektah
You can turn my mic up
Yeah, you can it up some more so I can really hear
A little more
Ayo
King of the hill, bitch I′m Bobby Jill
People hate but I still
Write all the shit I feel
Like a game of eight ball, it's only one intention
Two face hustlers like two countries is in contention
Off the track like three tires missing suspension
For your eyes only like a pair of bifocals
But y′all don't feel me like a quad I'm going postal
Five seconds ′till I say something antisocial
Five, four, three, two, one
Fuck people I hate ′em
Extroverted introverts that's paid to public speak
At minimum that′s six figures, I do three speeches a week
Made seven figures in a day that's not all
I save the eight for last, I′m in the pocket like a nine ball
Love to rhyme for y'all
First picked up the pen when I was ten
When my step daddy went to the pen
First time I heard my first was at 11
Curfew was 12
Runnin′ with shorties that's 13
My older brother 14
On the corner he servin' fiends
15 bullets sprayed in a drive-by
His children run wide-eyed
Some get hit and when they do they fall
My lyricism go straight to your dome like it′s an 8 ball
I stay with scratch but never in a pocket
My flow is always in the pocket
Statik
Yeah
Statik Selektah
You can turn my mic up
Yeah, you can it up some more so I can really hear
A little more
Ayo
King of the hill, bitch I′m Bobby Jill
People hate but I still
Write all the shit I feel
Like a game of eight ball, it's only one intention
Two face hustlers like two countries is in contention
Off the track like three tires missing suspension
For your eyes only like a pair of bifocals
But y′all don't feel me like a quad I'm going postal
Five seconds ′till I say something antisocial
Five, four, three, two, one
Fuck people I hate ′em
Extroverted introverts that's paid to public speak
At minimum that′s six figures, I do three speeches a week
Made seven figures in a day that's not all
I save the eight for last, I′m in the pocket like a nine ball
Love to rhyme for y'all
First picked up the pen when I was ten
When my step daddy went to the pen
First time I heard my first was at 11
Curfew was 12
Runnin′ with shorties that's 13
My older brother 14
On the corner he servin' fiends
15 bullets sprayed in a drive-by
His children run wide-eyed
Some get hit and when they do they fall
My lyricism go straight to your dome like it′s an 8 ball
I stay with scratch but never in a pocket
My flow is always in the pocket
Statik
Writer(s): Patrick Baril, Robert Bryson Hall Ii Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com