[prod. by mr. master]
\n
\n[intro: mc grindah, (dj beats), (mr. master)]
\nAs you all know
\nI've had the important decision of
\nWho (nth) will be the godfather
\nI've learnt that it is more than just some little name
\nGiven to you by some silly little john in a church
\n(matamoney) It’s about loyalty. (Yeah) It’s about respect
\nSo for that reason, I feel there is no one better
\nFor the role of godfather (stateside) than… me!
\nI now declare myself godfather!
\n
\n[verse 1: mr. master]
\nFair warnin’ from the clairvoyant
\nThat the foresight’s twenties
\nFalse start false ‘causе the start's really ending
\n'S thought you can't offеr for pennies
\nSunset. D-d-d-dark go in gently
\nMy arms open entry. Woooosh
\nPunctuate and let's get on with the sentencing
\nLil neckrest guillotine. Head shinged
\nAnd since death
\nI done sprung sprouts out the remnants
\nThat's a sapling, a seed from the feces
\nFecund. Packed for the exodus
\nFast track to the existence o’ the conceptual
\nScreech outta stasis
\nBreathe in vapor from the tailspin
\nAirway wearin’ thin, you feel a rush
\nEyelid outside lit from your life flashin’
\nThankless. Back to the bay silt
\nI snip buds out the vine
\n‘fore the zeitgeist gust arrive and claim title
\nIt's mine. Self-owned metronome step in time
\nPerfection on. All left alive
\nAftermath solved. The back of the book bind
\nDeciding rip hooks from cheek lining
\nDividing wholehoods to piece-bites
\nA resize fun for the fam’s entirety
\nYou drown in the fountain o’
\nYouth downed by the lung fluid ounce
\nFlood the truth figured out. Found the-
\nFound the proof in the stew underground
\nAin't no fusion without splitting nuclei unbound
\nYou let a bot ticker countdown your clock. Hm
\nN-n-n-not on my analog watch
\nLet it rot to the backbone. Let the track show:
\nStature intact. Never crack, never fold
\n‘til the faculty said so. Head executive
\nSet runner front center fell. Inner self plummet
\nEnd brung in. Roll out the red for it. Welcome in
\nHow’s the West one with emperors exempt from a
\nDeath sudden? Feel your chest snare drummin’
\nColor red vessel rushin’ through the ventricle. Bloodlet it
\nKept covenant. Defect from the fundament
\nObject ain't a subject of the textbook I'm editor o'
\nClear. Finite finish line seer
\nLexile mind read a one from a mile up
\nCatch wise o' the stepwise function
\nO don’t jump to one without a cut
\nStill the slope up and right. Dawn say good night
\nLit the stars alight, and link dots into sprites
\nNo bark; bite, and no wrongs made a non-life
\nTook charge. Took a fall to the stripe
\n
\n[Chorus 1: mr. master]
\nNa na na na. Woooosh
\nDeath did it part. nth took it farther
\nFrom the start, had it lock stock
\nGetaway car in the parking spot
\nWith the keys in the slot. For the
\nFor the plot. And it ought not stop
\nIt ain’t a pause. It's a dot dot dot
\n
\n[post-chorus 1: ghetts, (mr. master)]
\nLook, look, look
\nWhat's happenin'? What's really good cuz?
\nWhat's cracklin'? I be in the hood blud
\nStill battlin', still trying to push drugs
\nSo when I see feds, they only see legs
\nYeah I'm still panickin' (blblblblb!)
\nAnd I've left them fakes in the past
\nBut I still hear snakes in the grass
\nStill rattlin'. (jheeze!) Know the levels
\nIt ain't basic season right now
\nI swear to you
\n
\n[verse 2: mr. master]
\nThis doesn't die
\nUs doesn't die
\nAll doesn't die. bang
\nApex. Place swept to the nines
\nNot a mess made
\n‘cept a vacancy sign for the next wave
\nA second wind for rewinding
\nImperfect timings a "search for it, find it" thing
\nReversal’s the pipe dream
\nRise from the urgent defined as lie disbelieved
\nThe brain misbehaving, the mind still in reach
\nWise to decipher ‘tween’s the technique
\nIndent and invent in the intervene
\nOutsource an outpour from ancestry
\nWhat's past is pasture for thanksgivin’ feast
\nSole flank to breach: the anti-antique
\nEvery granule o’ sand in the glass get released
\nTaxi cab breeze. Sit passenger seat
\nHittin’ past limit speed. In the rear view
\nLooking see-through. Lil breathe room
\nWoooosh got a ring to it
\nThat's the theme tune sung by the clean crew
\nLil three two one zero skeet shoot
\nI dip the stone in for soup
\nConvinced the townsfolk to sow their own roots
\nAt the boundary zone, splittin' two understandings
\nWho's can it be? woooosh. Batter batter swing
\nChoose or chance assumes rule with its fancy
\nHuman slant to keep future fantasy
\nCruelty, tragedy. Call help
\nThat's truancy of an absentee self
\nProof it’s here still bounds off the shelf
\nLil souvenir from the Christ way to hell
\nHad the blind healed. Foresight prevail
\nGimme a dot dot dash. What's that spell?
\n
\n[Chorus 2: mr. master]
\n(bomb a drop, damn you!)
\nHey hey hey
\nNext phase, put 'er there
\nIxnay on the stay. Land lay; well aware
\nElevator to the- Still stairs to the…
\nRed light. Look left. Turn right
\nultra. Check!
\n
\n[post-chorus 2: wiley, (ghetts), (mr. master)]
\n(Hey diddle diddle. Play me the fiddle
\nWhile the city turn to rubble, my sky’s still Skittles!
\nPurebred. King size bed out the kennel!
\nPop. Shake. Pop. Pop snake out the- Go!)
\nJustin! Cool off
\nYou don't really want me to bust the tool off-
\n(yeah!)\n\n
