Run tha Show - Ab-Soul

Back by popular demand, it’s your man

Dot, tell them what I am -- (You's a motherfucking scoundrel)

Villainous, I don’t care if you sensitive

I’m different -- my only proof of birth’s a death certificate

Brain like a fried egg, dick long as my leg

I don’t give a fuck though, but I love having sex

Hit my weed man up, told me all he had was stress

Rock, ask DT how he wanna handle this

Now I’m in the Nickersons but I ain’t got no business here

Cause I could get killed cause of the colors on the shit I wear

Fuck it though, I’m in this bitch -- acting all hard

But watch me turn impotent as soon as niggas trip and shit

I only got one life and nigga I ain’t risking it

I’ll probably catch cancer by twenty-six

Smoke like a burning building, never choke and if I do

That’s that killa, meaning, nigga that’ll murder you

That’s the fire on my chest dude

«Ab-Soul you smoke too much, how it affect you?»

One time, I got so high up in the sky

That I ran a couple laps then took a nap in the restroom

Get it?

I took a nap in the restroom

I’m in the laboratory, sipping vodka out a test tube

And if anybody wanna throw shots or leave flesh wounds

Tell 'em I’ll be in the streets with my cleats

Show-stopper, Carson globetrotter

Rhyme like popping a Glock, get low like Flo-Rida

You know that nigga Soul keep one in the chamber

Motherfuck a judge though, there’s no justice for brothers

My nigga B Slim in the pen like permanent ink

And like my first LP, I’m waiting on his release

Machete sharp on you niggas every sixteen

I should charge per bar like a store that sell dumbbells

I ain’t finna kiss the bride, but I’m finna unveil the truth

Niggas be trash like junk-mail in the booth

After who?

Y’all know that

So I think I’m wasting a gift if y’all gon' rap

Am I the shit?

Read my black ass lips

Like confessions of video vixens we all wanna hit

Kick it like a creative recreation on some everyday shit

And I don’t even own a pair, but it’s fair to say I

Hit you up like Pac

Then when you get to heaven ask Biggie who shot you

I pity you rap dudes, you niggas in my way

You’re talking to the father, don’t play Marvin Gaye

Better yet, I’m the author-slash-martyr with a probable cause

To ball harder than Coach Carter starters

Pack more green than the team that gave the boot to Brett Favre

And you could hear the horror in my aura

Monster, like the one under your bed

Say your prayers 'fore I shed through your epidermal layer

With intentions to hurt you like a technical foul player

Even in a scrimmage I make you hemorrhage

I got a scheme to get richer than movie screen depictions of Bruce Wayne

No bats, just game

In fact, you niggas wanna know why you’re lame?

I gets more fly, you stay plain, how 'bout that?

More figures than your calculator could count

I got more flavor than garlic on niggas' recording

I hate y’all, I’m sick of rap

Punch, hit the space bar

Largo termino…

Long term, bitches

If you can compare yourself to anybody else in hip-hop who would it be?

And this is not comparing them to be side by side

This is somebody that you see great music inside them

And every time you hear them it makes you wanna work on your craft

Man, really I mean, I mean K Dot man, that nigga’s a monster

K Dot?

That nigga’s a monster

Uh, he’s probably the only rapper still that gives me the chills at this point

Aside from like Hov or someone like that