Common — Hungry

Yo, niggas don't want none of this Niggas know they can't fuck with this Turn this shit up just a little more [Verse] I walk the night in rhyming armor, bomb a nigga like a winter coat Have him on Death Row searching for an Interscope Yet I sparkle like Irene Cara Symbolize dope, like sirens do terror Mary Lou just had a baby someone else decapitated Flashbacks of past raps make me so glad I made it Players is getting traded I drop a gem on, them who's style is jaded My juice is grated Shit is so banging niggas say it's gang related On philosopher's rink of thought, I've skated with precision Crews is getting split like decisions Com'a let it ride and collision Vision like Coleco or intele, I battle stars in stellar Regions, my thought scheme was my like my offspring Now, it's teething My reason to rhyme applies to season and time Seizing the mind, body and regions divine In mom's cookouts, I'm leaving the swine Verbal vegetarian, squash beef with Ice Cube Came in this rap life nude Now I'm fully clothed with flows You tricks can't hide behind expensive cars and clothes Old niggas I expose like Luke does hoes in videos With classic material, imperial and rugged like Got mag, but my slugs a mic You fake like a smile, like a hug I'm tight Skip ladies, this is rip a muthafucka night Auricle air-outs, niggas don't even run for cover right Downtown interracial lovers hold hands I breathe heavy like an old man, with a cold can of Old Style Hold a Stone Isle profile Mix between Malcolm X and Sef when I go wild Hold mics like a second nut until the second coming Humming coming towards you with power like forwards do Hip hop, you my bitch and like a Ford, I'm exploring you Some wack niggas be cool, with them I stay cordial Flow at room temperature, cats is presumed miniature Like golf, soft like Tiger Woods At real nigga angles I've stood with ways that's geometric Don't need to rob banks with dyke broads to set it I levitate to the occasion, lounge like a lyricist Rhyme wise, you a rest haven You sat by the door spooked like I was Wes Craven You need to do more deleting and less saving A praise in hell, raising heaven As the bill on my pager leavens What you should have known from day one You will on day seven Hungry hip hop junkie in the city