Legacy - U-God

T-minus 10, 9, 8

We have a go for main engine start

I got the block warm, tear it apart for 'em

Time to lock horns, knowledge my art form

Warriors spirit be the best by far

Still smash guitars like some pill poppin' rock stars

Killer machine, killer regime

Glimmer on your game screen, underground to the mainstream

Be it a classical antique, three-sixty circle

Switch on these niggas like it’s a dress rehearsal

Live in the fire, keep the gig crispy

Feed the friction, don’t try to fix me

One man down, calling the substitution

Second Chess move, that be the revolution

I want it right now, tearing the house down

High self-esteem, I’m showin' out now

Smokin' my ounce now, missin' my bread

Job on my head, high bread, two points on the spread

Embrace the come up, the funky drumma'

Til' the casket drop, last shot beat the buzzer

Remy guzzler, street peddler, head hunter, underground street thriller beneath

the bunker

Fish like cement gettin' my chips off

Chippin' my bricks off, NFL kick-off

Iconic symbol, that be that global force

My grand gesture surrounded by my train of thought

Translucent lamps, top of weed stalks

Licking my own wounds, I don’t need salt

I speak outlandish, a thousand volts when I talk

I knew Spanish, a hardball on the court

Hands on the pot, a heavy portion

Mix crack with the rap, product scorchin'

Check out my melody, hardcore density

A beasting pregnancy, the swarm start the legacy

Rhymes for a hundred years, this is my legacy

Pen and pad, sweat and tears, what a legacy

Words massage your ears

After I’m gone, these words be my legacy

Rhymes for a hundred years, this is my legacy

Pen and pad, sweat and tears, what a legacy

Words massage your ears

After I’m gone these words be the legacy

After twenty-two long, hard years I’m still writin'

After I’m gone, they still be recitin'

Birth of the boss starts with the indictment

«Get in that cell, nigga,» starts the rhymin'

Booked my first studio session on consignment

Test my pen against the beat for alignment

Push through the Winter Warz, there with refinement

One stroke on the paper killed all you green giants

Long after I’m gone the song lives on

Words get recited through the mouth of my first born

The powers on without the plug, still strong

Microphone king kong write for eight hours long

Local niggas won’t be bigga than B.I.G

I speak lines stay jig in your ribs with a quick jib

Sore losers always tendering it

Nervous nigs always smoke packs of cigs

Action packs that big

Rhymes for a hundred years, this is my legacy

Pen and pad, sweat and tears, what a legacy

Words massage your ears

After I’m gone, these words be my legacy

Rhymes for a hundred years, this is my legacy

Pen and pad, sweat and tears, what a legacy

Words massage your ears

After I’m gone these words be the legacy