More Than Gold - Bronze Nazareth, Timbo King

I’m a king with no wings, but we can box in one

I’m toxic, spun off the marksmen epiclotist

Ex-robbers, vile toting, swinging totem pole

Cobra ax flow, niggas spinning jacks slow

Government remote control, my brain power

Rain shower, man and gods, what’s the odds

Even I’m wrong, I’m still right, get large

Seven Wise, hitman, hit squad, dip bars

In golden jars, I speak a sunshine flow

Throw a drumline slow, like gumbo

Aiyo, my music testifies, and if it’s not 5 mics

It’s atleast ten gongs

Throw a rope up to God, maybe you’ll climb this high

In the tree house, I’m tree’d out, speak about

Something, to think about a bleed out

Flee to my house, hold a tree to my mouth, inhale it’s

Brain tsunami, hope your chain and all your property

Is enough to keep you, on top of the water

Shallow niggas sink deep, and there’s sharks in the water

Who run the soundboards, from here to abroad

While ya’ll niggas sleep as if the Lord had called, uh Yeah… yeah, that’s who it is Yo, Bronze, you gon’get a gold medal on this one

Yo, Kruger, I got my thinking cap on, listen.

Look, I will murk you holmes

I’m Muhammad Ali, I will hurt you Holmes

You ain’t nice as hell, you a Comic View rapper

You should write for Chappelle (GZA: «Konichiwa bitches!»)

Let’s spit the pie fucking three ways

Now we got enough gwop up to pay DJ’s

Punch rappers, blood in they mouth, sell it on eBay

Niggas got G5's now up in the PJ’s

Wanna pull wool over eyes, go get a sheep

And the G’s shall inherit the streets over police

Cop jars of that white widow, write it on a memo

Internet thugs, they get thrown outta they windows

Fight club, I grab mics with Nike gloves

Inside night pubs, we smash light bulbs

I break niggas up like glass dishes, I’m past vicious

Before I bury ya ass, any last wishes?

Dry ice, I’m rockin’ya man into fried rice

Fucking with Bo, you could die twice

The game is fixed, they pulled the same tricks on Zab

Hop outta cabs, right in front of Sacks, Fifth Ave.

Fuck Bloomberg, new law, marrying fags

You should get a job in Pathmark, carrying bags

Spit hotter than a day in Nevada, with a mink on Father, slash corporate, without the pink on Ya’ll dudes got a «problem»

And I ain’t talking 'bout Mathematics and his album

I’m famous, amongst the streets in all projects

The Black Rick Rubin when I’m putting out a project

See me on Canal, plus cursing in my sentence

Smiling, medicaid paid for the dentist

A dollar goes a long way from spending pennies

Might wind up broke surrounded by them gimme’s

Loose ball, you can chirp, you can Boost call

Shots rain out, from the top of the roof, ya’ll

Smoke screen, I smoke green, light a Dutch up…

What’s that, diesel, son?

I’m cold blooded, Rick James, up in my veins

Hurricane, hurri’wind done flooded

Besides the shows, online sales and features

I’ve done made more money this year than teachers

I hit the smoke, stack it like my bitch’s batter

Might shatter like pipe dreams, splatter ya gray matter

When things get rough, pull something from my sleeve

Longer than Joker gun, keep hope alively

With a smoking gun, I discipate a Crimson gate

Escape and scrape the fishscale straight, move the plate

High maneuvers, blue street pie for dinner

Consider a sinner, simmer my lines like roaches shimmer

Leftover bread winner, a lively dead winter

Since my placenta had adventure grammar

My wild life is trife like arachnid’s trapped in amber

No one can shit on these schemes with pitiful means

Put you on the hospital beams, and audible screens

My possible scam, a sonogram of modern man

Harbor, G. Carver plans, why do we sit in stance?