Moskidzo, Fashawn - Tradition lyrics

Right now I could be high on anything
You wouldn’t realize ‘cause you hide
Behind pills and lean
To anaesthetize and disguise
Your feelings see
Take your time to advise esthetic dentistry
‘Cause you ‘gon need to clarify whether
You’ll get grilled and fried
Or finally grit your teeth
I’m in the vicinity
Energy intensifies tremendously
Demented fiends to chemistry
Tremble and surrender by the scent of me
I am endlessly revving my electric engine
Speed extends with every line I am assembling
And you think that by coincidence I
Would stretch this line so lengthily
But in hindsight you see – my
Mind is a Tesla limousine (Skrr)
This is BigSur, check your screen
Like Disney Pixar, what you see depends on me
Because these pictures I make ‘em
Read my lips first
To assure what I spit works
Then I script the scene
Assisted by the Grizzly City Chief
While it seems all you do is surf the
Internet for gifs and memes
See if I was Rip Curl, I wouldn’t push a tee
Though I agree – being this dope is brickwork
Back when all I wanted was to get heard
But to strike the right note
I couldn’t hold a key (oooh)
Now lyrically
I am six foot seven inches deep
You’re the height of Peter Dinklage
Tryin’ to hit my knees

No killing time when it’s killing time
(‘tis the season)
No killing time when it’s killing time
(‘tis the reason)
No killing time when it’s killing time
(‘tis the season)
No killing time when it’s killing time
(it’s tradition)
No killing time when it’s killing time
(‘tis the season)
No killing time when it’s killing time
(‘tis the reason)
No killing time when it’s killing time
(‘tis the season)
No killing time when it’s killing time

Spit like a Mini Mack, tongue go brrraaat
Pen like Cinemaxx, rap game gimme that
(gimme that shit nigga)
I’m throwing shots out
I’m throwing Henny back
I got a bigger stack
Bigger than Guerilla Black
I don’t do trap beats, this a track meet
I brought wrap cleats, far from an athlete
I’m from the backstreets
Kingpin to all the crack fiends
I got flat feet, still I curve bitches
Spit fire, burn bridges
Cremate, I urn niggas
Take the iron bird and I earn figures
Throwing shade in my lighthouse
I ain’t even concerned with it
Presidential but the term different
Move slow I ain’t syrup sipping
Serving chicken, Vitamin D
Leave that bird on the curb sitting
Y’all wonder what the word’s worth
More millions that Merv Griffin
I hurt feelings
In the act of the turf-peeling
Eat MCs, I’m Big Lurch
Save the rest for the earth-digger
Was a purse snatcher shawn Michael
Triple H – I leave you in a hearse after
I dirt nap ya
Drama class you’re the worst actor, nigga
That’s on Alassane, you need a Oscar
Pop like Redenbacher, toting the chopper
(Boom Boom Boom)
I carry on tradition and take my commission
This is alchemy mixed with
Martin and Malcom vision
Mighty-morphing Fash
I done made it off the ave
I dip the flow in Kerosine and
Got it towards the ash
Floyd Mayweather the way I got
Up off the corner fast
I learned currency is more than cash
My autograph, more than a stack
The more that I yap, the audience clap
For this audio crack, I’m god in the flesh
Far from Father Allah, just call me the F
Or Armstrong
My nigga I get all of you stretched bitch