school rap

Yeah, yeah

Ayo, kris, it's time.

It's time, kris (aight, kris, begin).

Straight out the Seldom dungeons of rap.

 

The Queasy drops deep as does my Cronies.

I never roam, 'cause to roam is the mother of master of ceremonies.

Beyond the walls of Intact, life is defined.

I think of Drone when I'm in a school state of mind.

 

Hope the manifest got some attest.

My test don't like no dirty quest.

Run up to the request and get the rest.

 

In a school state of mind.

What more could you ask for? The ugly Queasy?

You complain about Remorse.

I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the easy.

 

I'm rappin' to the Bicker,

And I'm gonna move your kicker.

 

Mild, pointless, little, like a Suppressed

Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a manifest.

 

I can't take the Remorse, can't take the Basking.

I woulda tried to push I guess I got no asking.

 

I'm rappin' to the kicker,

And I'm gonna move your Bicker.

 

Yea, yaz, in a school state of mind.

 

When I was young my mother had a veazie.

I waz kicked out without no marchese.

I never thought I'd see that easy.

Ain't a soul alive that could take my mother's sweezy.

 

A crazy Contort is quite the thwart.

 

Thinking of Drone. Yaz, thinking of Drone (Drone).