Target Practice - Dilated Peoples

Best described with exclamation points instead of

A period, the wheel turns when you’re steerin it

Slow down on the road, we hit a deer in it

That wasn’t practice, more like an accident

Things become targets without askin for it

Some people think the word «practice» is a drill

Somethin not for real, 'til you become the target

Hard to hit, something can’t be seen

Dodgin infared beams with my camoflauge green

Don’t shoot at a mirage and not the real thing

Most hit the innocent, young kids and teens

Jungle gyms and swings, sing hyms and take queens

Overthrow your whole element with relevant themes

Raaka-Raaka Iriscience and Babu at my highest

I throw trees at the crowd like «catch this»

Target practice

(Chorus-Babu mixing)

«Bull's eye, direct hit, don’t miss»

«Touch the mic and see how close you might get»

«Target practice»

«Bull's eye, direct hit, don’t miss»

(Iriscience)

Yo, men want the targets, pull, blast, blast

In a flash clay pigeons are shattered and fall fast

Sport shooter, slash last resort shooter

Put mine and yours in rhyme wars, a sharp shooter

You bring the rocks I’ll bring the slingshots

And I snap in all directions 'til everything drops

I used to hit pop bottles with bb’s

Now I spit at pop models and their little CDs

Duck down like I go at BDP with no retreat

My scope is like the predators when runners compete

My sight is beyond LED and 3-d

My third got you in crosshairs like P-E

Raaka’s a marksman, start of the art shit

To hit the bull’s optics, that’s my main target

I focus on the center until the path narrows

Let go and split your arrow in my arrow

Archery, plus throw darts, heavy artilary

Heavy delivery, pushin every ability

Spectacular, miraculous

I blast 'til I can’t miss, target practice

Target practice, target practice, target practice, target practice

It’s like this

Target practice, target practice

Target practice

Bull’s eye, direct hit, don’t miss, uh