Benny the Butcher, Black Thought - Crowns For Kings lyrics

Uh, every king will be crowned trust me uh

This marathon shit
So let's see who first to the finish
If it's less than a hundred racks
It don't deserve your attention
'Cause burdens come with it
My second test was servin' a sentence
My first was make a brick jump
Like it was hurdlin' fences
Certainly, my last shit was a courtesy, nigga
And further, we had bustdowns before
You heard of me, nigga
Shoeboxes stacked with racks sittin'
Vertically in 'em
I'm fresh out of luck, I'm here
'cause I deserve to be, nigga
I sat back, a vet
And watched beginners winnin' my belts
Burned my bridges
Came back a good swimmer like Phelps
You know the feeling, young black male
What y'all dealin'?
Take your whole life to get it
It only last you a minute
In the kitchen countin' cash with
Cats with backward agendas
Put a Benz in the brick
Then toss it back in the blender
That was us, next to a big like I was Puff
The good die young, all the OGs thirty and up
In Alexander McQueen kicks just
To dirty 'em up
Money tree, branches break when
They not sturdy enough, uh
See, I was good with the bad guy role
Water in my jewels
Put 'em on and baptize hoes
Walk in my shoes, we got Shaq-sized soles
(Huh) we flatline those wack rap
Niggas wearin' half-sized clothes
What's the dealy? I'm only 'bout
Six hours from Philly
That's an hour on the plane
I'll make it three in the Bentley
My bitch keep sayin' I'm famous
But it ain't hit me
I'm too ghetto, mellowed out
This Hollywood shit tricky
See, before I knew an A&R
I was weighin' hard
Back when Nicki Minaj was in a trainin' bra
You play this game, you better play it hard
The judge'll give you life
And later that day, he gon' be playin' golf
I'm from that era
We don't pay it if you weighed it wrong
Back when your parents got your
Baby shoes plated bronze
We took Hip-Hop and made it ours
I sold quarters
Just so happens I'm the author
Of your favorite songs
They bullshitted me, I played along
More bars than them niggas who got
Hit with the Reagan laws let's go

Yo, when we was hooked in the hood
Gettin' booked like literature
Kept us shook
Like when the boogieman comin' to get ya
We was crooks
Tryna cop more rides than Great Adventure
Any image we took
Not a father was in the picture
There was times
Not a bite nor swallow was in the kitchen
Real niggas made a industry
Out of they intuition
Facin' the darkest outcome
Sprintin' to outrun the reaper
Trying not to be the food in
The mouth of the beast
For whom the bell tolls
Crown kings in Adidas suit's and shell toes
We had to throw a lot
Of body blows and elbows
Wishin' we could get from
Snyder Ave to Melrose
Without the Dapper Dan bodybags
And jail clothes that warned niggas not to
Lollygag when Hell rose
We railroaded through the thicker things for
Gold chains and chicken change
No one throwin' flames
There's growin' pains when in the game
And the blow, ashes in the snow
It's no remains
Push the wheel as fast as it could go
We overcame the obstacles
But when you official, the block miss you
Even if the old crew choose
Not to rock with you
We was blue-black, stuck in the glue trap
I had to pull my own self up by the bootstrap
Where everybody play they own part
Like a tooth gap
And old heads teach the young
Hitters to shoot back
I been livin' proof that the
Pressure make precious stones
And real Clarence Avants remain lesser known
But anybody who question you
Send a message to 'em
I see my seat at the table
To be a blessed throne triumph and tragedy
His majesty muscle never atrophied
The devil is a casualty, sucker
You're never catchin' me
Even though you been after me, motherfucker
You gotta bring a army to harm me
I occupy the capacity up
Decapitator of a hater in this modern day
My dossier no less, dealer spray Courvoisier
I'm Jean-Paul Gaultier, Tom Ford, and Cartier
Self made, I fly vintage from the sommelier
On reserve
Flowin' from the blackest fountain
It's all love from public housin'
To the Atlas Mountains
I've established the average to
Always bat a thousand
So after butcherin' this track
It's back to countin'
The money generated from me
Leavin' microphones broke
Probably almost on par with
All of Escobar's coke when I'm finished
I'ma keep a tennis shoe on y'all throat
Just in case you mention in
A interview you want smoke, nigga
Two Fifteen