Mr. Fire in the Booth - Akala

They call me mister fire in the booth

Don’t force me to remind you why

Never gave a guy a bly ever who will ramp with I?

The half breed seed sprouting his disease

Haunting emcees like Dessaline in Napoleon’s dream

I’m mean, not a team, nor a squad nor a nation

Unless its Haitian

Could break the back of my occupation

Cooperation is the only clever option open

Any choice you’re given is fake

Kinda like you voting

Either way, the victory’s mine son

Shoulda done as your mum said, listen to dad

I gave you life, thats inside of you

And, I provided too

Now you wanna question the very wisdom that guided you

Sounding like enlightened fools

Running from a spiteful brawl

But in my city we don’t know how to be nice at all

We know the knife’s a tool

And that this life has rules

And the youngsters use them and lose them just on their bike to school

They call me mister fire in the booth, booth

They call me mister fire in the booth, booth

They call me mister fire in the booth, booth

Cos i’m always spittin' out the truth, truth

They call me mister fire in the booth protect ya neck

Cos its Sun Tzu with a hoodie on, Plato with a pair of creps

Use to reppin' where there’s weapons and never a santa

We turn a stanza to a cancer with poetic banter

So no factor that chat which rappers crack

I cold Turkey that pratt, and let you have him back

If we believe your act that you believe that you can rap

You’ll get punished for stupid beliefs, and its more than slaps

The impact on the head of the hard headed

Bet that he’ll get his little rap and facade, deaded

In the ring with the king of the paragraphs

Come on then sweetheart, let us have a dance

Your twinkle toes and pretty pose could never dazzle

The one who throws a million souls and it’s never hassle

Battles are pleasure for a general nobody told you?

Smash you a hole that is big enough to snatch your soul through

I take 'em out

(All on my own)

Cos that’s the way im made

Maybe in your culture suicide is being brave

The sage of the page makes graves plagued with dark ages

And ain’t no choice to be buried I only do cremating

For little idiots thats not even rated

Not even hated not even a factor that needs to be calculated

And you can’t explain it, much less contain it

Roll with us or get crushed, that i’ve already stated

In the plainest terms

But fools never learn

Still tryna be what they’re not like wearing the blondest perm

Cos of loss of purpose, I have you lost on purpose

You can’t escape the furnace, so best you praise my verses

Look around the cooning’s a lot

I spit a sentence quick like a judge with a coon in the dock

But these clowns with their dead sound hate me

Still they don’t count like a dead brown baby