Blazin' Mic's Songtext
von T‐Bone

Im sweet like cinnamon when Im spittin this
Lyrical venum,
Giving rappers the blues like denim,
When Im killin em, fillin em with these syllable,
Synonyms of adrenaline spillin off my spiritual
Tongue,
Then numbing em like penicillin,
Plus Im trying to reach the lost like Gilligan,
God willin the spiritual healin, will stop the drug
Dealing,
And killing, because Im feeling like Im ready to
Loose my mind,
So many bullets be flying, and rydas be dying,
Gotta make a difference, for instance, the inmates
In prisons make bad decisions,
For lack of wisdom, so I cut them open, and make
Incisions,
Fill em with spiritualism, tell em about the one
Thats arisen,
How they can be free in they spirit, and have they


Sins forgiven,
By the one who died on the cross,
′Cause even when they were into all their drinking
And smoking,
He loved them even while they were lost,
So please listen to me, and stop dissin a G,
'Cause I got they remedy on how yall can be free.
Blazing microphones, bringing nothing but that
Heat from the west coast,
Chase beats, Bone lyrics like Vito Corleone,
We be running things so act like you all know,
Boneyard cant be stopped now.
Im not a Jehovah witness, but I witness for
Jehovah,
Back in the day, the 1st to slang cane and the
Baking soda,
But nowadays, I like preachin the word,
Like a drug dealers, slangin; holy rock on the curb,
Eyes blurred off the holy ghost, contact smoke,
Gotcha tripppin off my rims, crush eyes and my
Rope,
Plus Im gifted with flows and wrist is frozen,
I thought you all knew dawg, what, Im Gods
Chosen,
Highly favored, standing with the elite,
Thats stand apart dawg, anointed, bring the word
To the streets,
Aint into entertainin the the fame or set you
Claimin,
Tha game of namin, unless the name Im naming
Is Jesus on the throne and reining, painting a
Picture for Gs bangin,
Og how the Lord can save em, train em like a
Baltimore Raven, engraving,
The name of Jesus across they heart, ′cause its
Breakin,
Plus Satan is waitin, anticipatin, and hatin,
But once they trapped they's no escapin'
I been doing this for 12 years, it aint easy yall,
To make hit records that are off the hizzy yall,
Especially when them bustas sippin on that
Haterade,
Talkin behind your back and trying to stop you on
A day to day,
I dont make music for em playa hatas anyway,
This is for killers and thugs, thats sippin on the
Alize,
Run a ways and essays locked down in prison,
Why them, they the ones in need of a physician,
And I know the perfect doctor yall
That can heal you when you answer to the alter
Call,
He can, fill all the emptiness and void in your
Heart,
Thats why I rhyme out of a need and not love of
The art,
So listen, my only mission is soul fishing,
So when the rapture happens, faces will be on the
Back of milk cartons missing.