RA Scion and Gifted Youngstaz - WOLFCOOKER

We heat it up, kid
We heat it up, kid
We heat it up, kid
We get the pot hot; yeah we heat it up, kid
Yeah, I'm going back to god is it my final visit
Equivocally, vividly spitting. But y'all don't wanna listen
Honestly on a mission, to verbalize this condition
My visions lifted, it's Gifted, there ain't not competition
There ain't even opposition, I've just got to drop the wisdom
Similar to living bitching
I'ma carry on tradition
Spittin' with RA Scion, said Mikey you keep an eye on
A sixteen line I'm bringing it past the pylon
Thinking we can all agree, Gifted is an anomaly
Killing me with a bottle but filled with the pills you're swallowing
Never said to follow me, I'm only spitting knowledge see
A problem with all 'em balling farther than they wallets reach
What's in it? It's finished. I'm brining it back to triple digits
I'm thinking that rap's bringing it back, to it's humble beginnings
Big shoes to fill, but it ain't a problem; no small feat
From Common Market Live sans Sabzi to Mobb Deep
So bring forth the diadem; I been tried
Time and again - trying to survive the lion's den
The rearrival of the prodigal son, yo they
Say the day of the Promised One has come; it's a lot of them
Yo we do need a messiah though, it's evident we
Hell-bent on not dying; life's irrelevant
Deeply indebted to the means and methods of the
Machinery, man I'm thinking we should rethink things
We get the pot hot; we heat it up, kid
We get the pot hot; we heat it up, kid
We get the pot hot; we heat it up, kid
We get the pot hot; yeah we heat it up, kid
Here's how to cook a wolf in an endemic, the
Finish line's close, it's no time for roastin' pigeons - I'm
Picking the bones of a piglet with ya; get the picture
I'm pitching a fit - fork in the fist - a fifth of this formula's
Fixed firm in the other, my brother - you finna GIT it; the
Full effect of this furor; hot lead for the Fuhrer's head
As good as dead are the judge and juror - ain't no
Ketanji Brown about to conjure down a dormant dream in
Subconscious of an orphan trying to slide up in-between 'em, I
Been designing my defenses since the age of nine, and I'm
Admittedly confined to my offensive sensibilities
Timelessly cemented to resentment; shit is killing me
The inability to "let it go" is so
Inimical to growth, it's so difficult to go within the
Skin that I am in; it's like a mix of hydrogen and nitrogen
I might emit a nauseating noxious scent, so please
Pardon me - I'm just following the courses charted by the
Party of The Commies; all the monuments are toppling
The arsonists have gone and bombed a Pottery Barn
Oh, the atrocity! For god's fucking sake, go 'head and martyr me
The resurrection is deferred indefinitely
I expect some hesitancy in accepting the
Executors pathetic explanation for sequestering the
Jester left to take the blame for the death of Coretta's King
So bring forth the diadem; I been tried
Time and again - trying to survive the lion's den
The rearrival of the prodigal son, yo they
Say the day of the Promised One has come; it's a lot of them
Yo we do need a messiah though, it's evident we
Hell-bent on not dying; life's irrelevant
Deeply indebted to the means and methods of the
Machinery, man I'm thinking we should rethink things
We get the pot hot; we heat it up, kid
We get the pot hot; we heat it up, kid
We get the pot hot; we heat it up, kid
We get the pot hot; yeah we heat it up, kid
We heat it up, kid
We heat it up, kid
We heat it up, kid
We get the pot hot; yeah we heat it up, kid

Written by:
Michael Scheibe, Ryan Abeo

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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