John Robinson, MF DOOM and ID 4 Winds - Sorcerers

"Yo, ain't that?" He's not that cat
Got that? And he never shot that gat
Clever spot rats, face plate glisten
He got fat and hate for Jake Snake Plissken
Y'all got the wrong tape by mistake
Listen to it hissin'
Crack the safe, his cake's missin'
Backs to break to take
Risk and make imprisoned
Fake dissin', baked at the wake, twistin'

Legend stature
Since the prime factor of the blast master
Gift of gab, mic grabber rapper era
Tracks with terror, like bad meanin' good
Though i'm talkin' some of the finest tunes
To ever bang in your hood, yo
World notoriety, recognized by mad societies
For supplyin' that high-fi, so fly
Oh my, skies clear as day
Go sit down in the sunshine
Takin' rappers out like lunchtime

It's just one of those
Bullet holes deliver killer notes
Silence never spoke violence
Keep quiet while you wildin'
Tryin' to live the Island
Nonsense is never callin'
Eighty G's behind him
Still crime affects time on the Island
Nickel and dimin', the hustle's optional
Powerful moves
Copped two work shifts, block side-gig or two
Under the table the tammy food blaze grizzle
Stay paid if the name fit's you

Who went back and made y'all the boss of us?
It's the rawest MC's that flossed'ed it
Sorcerers
It's furtherin' the era that most know of
Everywhere he go
They go: "That hoe show love"
Thank God for the buddha tank armor suitor
Word kama sutra user stank mama recruiter
Broad set fools up
God, get your jewels up (Buddha)
Get your jewels up get your jewels up

Superstar, all pro, homegrown
The craft speaks alone, mastered
This closed casket
Pro savages, poor travelers
Hunger reach streets battlers
Money, the dollar, the dream gaffled up
Scalpel cut throat
Dope gettin', that's most definite
Gold record hit's spinnin', grind forever
Get it
Gods clever buildin', cheddar fillin'
Keep the better livin'
Miscellaneous thoughts
Gettin' millions, know that feelin'

You had enough of that 85 jive talkin'
Loony schemes
Somethin' right off of the movie screens
Burn Hollywood like arson
More powers than Austin, sound awesome
Pump these sounds often
Last chance to come off, son
For more to come in the
Mental auditorium without forcin' him
Strung him up on the last
Joint but it don't stop
Doin' this so the world could rock
Who blows spots?

Mommy, look
He talkin' to his self and walkin' fast
On the ave
Hawkin' ass with the Walkman on blast
Coby headphones wack
At least it’s Dolby Sony chrome cassette
Only the best you can get
Off the black market
Tell it, find these truer hell strategies
Sell it like Chinese Duracell batteries
Two dollar for change for a aqua blue benjie
These were brand new
He grew stingy, gingerly

Written by:
Daniel Thompson, John Robinson, Michael Robinson

Publisher:
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Exploration Group LLC

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John Robinson, MF DOOM and ID 4 Winds

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