Marco Polo, Shylow, Supastition - Underdogs lyrics
[Marco Polo, Shylow, Supastition - Underdogs lyrics]
We made a vow to spit truth
When in front of y’all
We no superstars with dope boy money dawg
All we are
Two brothers that hustle hard for the future
So you should root for
Root for the underdogs
That NC flow embedded in me since a embryo
The negroes said I wouldn’t
Prosper like Tim Tebow
I was even receiving the treatment of Benzino
Bang! A critic can hang from
Twenty feet tree ropes
So artists that you marveling are
Nothing than blogger strays
Pardon me, pardon this rap game fog machine
Classy tracks, I’m King Arthur-ing
A guy that sings to this
Underground rap raw regime
Ignore the rollers, homie focus on my words
It’s powerful and potent
As Ethiopian proverbs
A million bucks from living
The lap of luxury
Original, imitation is the highest
Form of fuckery beats, rhyme, and life
That’s the real we know and sell out
I’d rather juggle SARS-filled needles
Inspect your old meat later
Than Lauryn Hill’s appearances
Wait, I take it back later
Than Lauryn Hill’s periods
When you and your homies spit
It’s really nothing serious
Lyrically I take Egyptian bricks
And construct pyramids
No longer restrained by label interferences
Forever stick ahead of my time
Fuck what year it is
I move and maneuver through
Cities like army brass
A Bentley doesn’t fit me
I’m a early-60s Pontiac
Shylow and I know the truth is apparent
We came back to raise
Hell like Lucifer’s parents
From the north reppin’ BSA and that beat
Every real head’s favorite MC
Otherwise known as the greatest rapper
You never heard about
Unless you learned about taking cats on
The net or word of mouth
But turning out credit's in MP’s liner notes
Just an executive while I
Perfect these rhyming quotes
Don’t get twisted
I’m still committed for rich or broke
Just spit some shit I wrote while sticking
My dick in your chicken’s throat
Just so your critics know this is no
Attempt to be new at this
That futuristic shit I don’t pretend to be
You won’t remember me for catering to clubs
To television, to radio
To haters and the thugs
And no, you won’t see me on some street shit
Brandishing heat
Getting cats into personal battle
And beef shit
No, this ain’t gangster, but no
This ain’t conscious
My role, it ain’t a savior, my goal
To pay homage to the legends
By setting an example for the new
Professing the party rec instead
Of sampling is through
This is true school hip hop
I got that full clip
For dudes who is not, to stop that bull shit
Pull switch, electrify, and eliminate
The criminal lyricist forever
Trying to simulate shylow and Supastition
Wyle out with new conviction
We came to restore faith and
Provide ‘em with true religion
Hey fuckin’ Marco!
Matter Ov fuckin’ Fact over here
If you backin’ off if you that
Late on a fuckin’ three way
Tell him about this fuckin’ video
Okay Mr bruno? Have a good fuckin’ day
When in front of y’all
We no superstars with dope boy money dawg
All we are
Two brothers that hustle hard for the future
So you should root for
Root for the underdogs
That NC flow embedded in me since a embryo
The negroes said I wouldn’t
Prosper like Tim Tebow
I was even receiving the treatment of Benzino
Bang! A critic can hang from
Twenty feet tree ropes
So artists that you marveling are
Nothing than blogger strays
Pardon me, pardon this rap game fog machine
Classy tracks, I’m King Arthur-ing
A guy that sings to this
Underground rap raw regime
Ignore the rollers, homie focus on my words
It’s powerful and potent
As Ethiopian proverbs
A million bucks from living
The lap of luxury
Original, imitation is the highest
Form of fuckery beats, rhyme, and life
That’s the real we know and sell out
I’d rather juggle SARS-filled needles
Inspect your old meat later
Than Lauryn Hill’s appearances
Wait, I take it back later
Than Lauryn Hill’s periods
When you and your homies spit
It’s really nothing serious
Lyrically I take Egyptian bricks
And construct pyramids
No longer restrained by label interferences
Forever stick ahead of my time
Fuck what year it is
I move and maneuver through
Cities like army brass
A Bentley doesn’t fit me
I’m a early-60s Pontiac
Shylow and I know the truth is apparent
We came back to raise
Hell like Lucifer’s parents
From the north reppin’ BSA and that beat
Every real head’s favorite MC
Otherwise known as the greatest rapper
You never heard about
Unless you learned about taking cats on
The net or word of mouth
But turning out credit's in MP’s liner notes
Just an executive while I
Perfect these rhyming quotes
Don’t get twisted
I’m still committed for rich or broke
Just spit some shit I wrote while sticking
My dick in your chicken’s throat
Just so your critics know this is no
Attempt to be new at this
That futuristic shit I don’t pretend to be
You won’t remember me for catering to clubs
To television, to radio
To haters and the thugs
And no, you won’t see me on some street shit
Brandishing heat
Getting cats into personal battle
And beef shit
No, this ain’t gangster, but no
This ain’t conscious
My role, it ain’t a savior, my goal
To pay homage to the legends
By setting an example for the new
Professing the party rec instead
Of sampling is through
This is true school hip hop
I got that full clip
For dudes who is not, to stop that bull shit
Pull switch, electrify, and eliminate
The criminal lyricist forever
Trying to simulate shylow and Supastition
Wyle out with new conviction
We came to restore faith and
Provide ‘em with true religion
Hey fuckin’ Marco!
Matter Ov fuckin’ Fact over here
If you backin’ off if you that
Late on a fuckin’ three way
Tell him about this fuckin’ video
Okay Mr bruno? Have a good fuckin’ day