Slade — The Kid

[Intro] Yeah [Verse 1] Microphone check: 1, 2 when I want to (one two) Three Or Four - kick in the door grab the microphone testin' Spitting more Greek than a salad I'm a hazardous type of mannequin - Type of man that can spit without saying words You heard a sentence in sign language and verse The first word wish I had versed was: "I am" the kid that turned paper to rock Plus that rock scissoring - You're getting scars blocking, bickering 'stop' I'm a hardbody - picture my knock As if the great wall had a premonition thinking: 'How do I stop him? He's not thin. Neither is he fat, he's a jock. He's The Kid that cuts water in blocks' Before the ICE I see me As a mind-muscle muzzling many You tried to speak, I hear you mumbling plenty I'm in KBY turning prisons to molten steel My words burn bars above a thousand-four degrees Getting hot when I breathe Spring allergies - niggas jump when I sneeze I'm the answering machine when they call in for 'Murder In Rap' My murder skill in tact in fact I'm The Kid you're on the lookout for when the newcomers rap The new hardest gat, I spit a black As if the color was a shot and the coloring is hot (sheesh!) I'm a hot beast - a Mobb Deep And if you're Shook, then I can mind-read And if you'd look, then I can blind-read: Blind-lead facetious phonies to the freeze with god speed *sound of wind blowing* Antarctic feed: Telling me that my prisoners of war freezing And they wanted to leave And I told them to arrange in a crime order like a con-sequence My conscience is a tickling machine When it tickles, it would mean to ignore: Shut my big jaw about the phonies in the South Pole abroad Keep it 'buried and classified' Like C-I-A Nigga stop the horseplay, July passed [Hook: x2] Pass the gun, I mean 'mic' Pastor run, you need life I'm airborne, you need fights Get the temperature machine when you need to breathe, kid Please believe, kid I'm hot sauce, I'm mean, kid [Verse 2] Microphone check: 1, 2 when I wanted to do it (guess what?) And 'Nam The Kid who did it 'cause I'm fitted with Napalm Lyrically blaze calm I brainstorm harm to your heart I'm a hardcore artist 'cause I'm beating with the hardest, kid I'm the hardest, kid. [or "The Hardest Kid"] If you can bar this: I'm the sharpest Already harvested The part where your heart is And targeted Where you're headed To where your head is: About to be headless! And it depends if you respect this My checklist jar filling to the brim I'm The Kid grim reaping You're heaving Your breathing's getting thin And I don't litter I just drop names Don't give a flame - I just take aim, then throw the flames Y'all are pen-killing rappers With a penicillin life-span standing in the sun, man Time to make the penny-killing change Paper coming Now my pennies feeling strange Y'all are petty-looking strangers [Hook: x2] Pass the gun, I mean 'mic' Pastor run, you need life I'm airborne, you need fights Get the temperature machine when you need to breathe, kid Please believe, kid I'm hot sauce, I'm mean, kid [Outro] (Mic Guess what? Gun, Mic.)