Show Lyrics

Grits - Ain't Sayin Nothin
(from the album Factors of the 7)

fiends check these conglomerates we got our Chucks on
Many times we rap so fast they rather put the smuggs on
Insubordinate knuckleheads insist that they be spoon feed
Need to take precautions, my spit up will make you nauseous...

Simplicity seems to get the best of me
Listening to MC's twisted renditions of authoring
Following the hollow styles of other individual while we originals get passed off like apologies...

My man Bone speaking terms that you'll learn to discern the short terms round about I sound about
The animosity verbal viscosity, I scoff at these insipid nitwits that be swearin' that they MC's...

Drama, when MICS are around lips
Circumstances cannibalistic methods of artists now labeled platinum hits
Poisonous venom is what I send them if they nip at this
Like a dip stick I let them know that they full of it...

Fill your cup with the haughty tawdry
I'm injecting a proposal at discretioned disposal
Grasp reality, yank it in your clutches with the Starsky and Hutches
Cripplin' wanna-be's promote them to crutches...

Oh No, Bone and Coffee gettin' deep again
Foes get your boots cause GRITS gets thick when
Heat sets in catch wind and hold your nose at the stench of the truth imposes the sale of your units to the youth..

Ain't sayin' nothin' got nothin' to say
Ain't sayin' nothin' got nothin' to say
Ain't sayin' nothin' got nothin' to say
MC's today they got nothin' to say.

I'm gonna' lay down my burdens, down by the river side
Glidding across sand with the mic in my hand
Standin' out like an Arabesque, my styles are blessed...

Delivering the truth, see my rhyme is never minuscule
The semen of my psyche impregnates the tape
Ballistic, mind-blowin' concepts of language intrude deep seeded laws of religion
My polemics stand erect by my cravings not in check...

The elect Coffee runs for alderman, I call the men to hit front lines, they want rhymes
I do my best make them digest the funk loaf add some gravy for your baby...

If I ever better never write a lyric without meaning, nowadays people would probably boo me from the stage in a rage
Tomato Juice dripping from my polo cap
Cryin', " Why they dissin'? Why won't they listen?"...

For the Chimpanzees and Monkey shines, the funky rhymes, I do I do ha, fa, fa, fa, fa, fantastic
Excellence endureth Gotee artist GRITS they toureth
Mental oven heats the muffin for the jabbers who say nothin'...

Some brothers be talkin' 'bout things they only seen on video or heard it on the radio, I ask real Hip-Hoppers to put a stop to these gimmics or industry investment mimics...

Now I'm bidding adieu
My citation's through
Get a clue, get a grip, release the trip
The Christian's position's in need of a physician
GRITS got the blood of Jesus drippin' on renditions...