Schoolboy Q - CHeck 2-1-2 lyrics

Alright, c'mon, yeah, yo
Yo, Dave, drop that shit, my nigga

Check 2-1-2
Who rock the motherfuckin' microphone
Better than Q? Yeah, uh, check 2-1-2
Who rock the motherfuckin' microphone
Better than Q? Yeah, uh, check 2-1-2
Who rock the motherfuckin' microphone?

Uh, back to the boogie, boogie to the bang
Bang to the rhythm, rhythm to the slang
Slang to the booth, booth to the truth
Spittin' all these words for the
Wise and the youth
Youth to the majors, them to the lasers
Beams to the cream, crack rock to the fiends
Fiends to the jails, jails to the tails
All of your dreams that you
Thought it had failed
Called you by surprise
Now the Devil in your eyes
Devil in your pie, see a coochee
Hit the broad
Stupid that you feelin' to live
In the crack dealin'
Look at the ceilin', stuck in prison
The walls peelin'
Hatin' every day in your life
Knew wrong from right
Don't despite, now you payin' the price
A nigga at your home layin' the pipe
Your wife livin' a life
Son fell in school, punked in a fight
I keep it real with you, say
I give you a real scripture
Money over bitches cause bitches
They will hit you
Movin' at a good pace, never lose a race
Providin' for your family
Keepin' food on the plate
Your money flows, doin' good
Stay on your toes
Sell out your rolls, fuck it
Let the music control and take over
It ain't cool to be a street soldier
Just somethin' to think about, shit
Now I'm out

Uh, yeah, check 2-1-2
Who rock the motherfuckin' microphone
Better than Q? Yeah, uh, check 2-1-2
Who rock the motherfuckin' microphone
Better than Q? Yeah, uh, check 2-1-2
Who rock the motherfuckin' microphone
Better than Q? Yeah, uh, check 2-1-2
Who rock the motherfuckin' microphone?

Uh, ayo, word on the street
GED ain't got spitters
Like I ain't one of LA's known crack dealers
Known cap-peeler, might be the pipe shit
The beat beat a price, yo
I guess I'll be the light
Born to the flame, dived into 'cane
Distributed cats to heat
Distributed cats defeat
The corner like peripheral
Sneakin' like I tippy-toe
Everythin' I write up in my verses, yeah
They fit me though '80s with the '90s flow
Mixin' with the gangsta and the soul
I got it under control hip-hop is mine
I'm throwin' you niggas signs
I'm makin' you step your game up
Lyrically, see, I came up from nothin'
My back turned from frontin'
All about my fetti
Stayin' sharper than machete
Eatin' rappers like spaghetti
Who can fuck with me? That young Nip, 50
That Bill Crispy, the Benjamin
These niggas softer than a cinnamon roll
As I compose, my body arose up from the dead
Every since Nas dropped that one album
Put his flow over my corpse
I came up with a torch
Hit the studio and comin' with force, yep
Kaboom guess who stepped in the room?
Nigga been a nut since I shot in the womb
I blow like balloon
Thank you guys for some of your time
Top five, nigga, dead or alive, Q