Throw Up Session #2

Drunk I fall with the dance, yeh
I release bars in the cypher
Instead of fronting low riders
Give cash to the ghost writer

If that made you dream man, yeh
Who are they to judge me
Spiritual harakiri man, yeh
I just want to balance

Yesterday the guys hit me up in the DM
Asking me to write the flows
And the tough guy in the tube didn't hesitate
And had to tell him no

It's not that I don't want the million
To make bread around the mafia in the gift, no!
It's not just surfing the beats
To write like this you have to live like me

Facts, facts, only facts
Truths in the air
A year ago, if you look back
Who was eating from the RapGame?

The square until late
Body cold burns
Why don't I go down to the parks?
My buddies are now fathers

Everything I set out to do one day I did
Walking through the avenues we listened to beats
There really was no guarantee in what I chose
But this was for me

Everything I set out to do one day I did
Walking through the avenues we listened to beats
There really was no guarantee in what I chose
But this was for me

All those who objectify, yeh
Why don't they moderate themselves, yeh
I have more freestyle on track
Than views on insta in my conquest plan

I have neither chorus nor gang
I just control my game
The monoblock knows my plan
And the chrome is my throne
In my own way I screw them, I shine without a chain, bro

I've been sleepless for days
I dialogue alone facing specters
They show me the thin layer
That covers the line that dressed this time

My body is a bowl an annex of verse
To be in the immense, in the immersed of the verse
Voices remind me of who I am
Hooded freestyling in winter

From afar, dude, I saw your deal
The one to please to do a featuring
I'm not going to record with any jerk
Who's not in it to spit his S-H-I-T

I have my things
My black guys
My squad
My people
My block
The spot and the packs

Boasting a band feels great
If a sequence of acts backs your bars
See? Give life, divine aggressiveness
In my activity, lyrical empirical
Minimal infinity, defined stable
My rhythmic is blessed

And now they're all better
They have high money paka and Al Capone Ts
Motherfucker, you lack gifts
I turn on the Rode Rimo and vomit harpoons Ts

I brought goals, hazards, roles
Rap in roles, they don't bother me like Corleone
Mine eat on different rhythms
If I sharpen the pen

We play in the rotten spot of Baires
And hands in the air
We play in fancy places in Baires
And hands in the air
We play for four in an empty room
And hands in the air
Sold out, burnt rooms
And the hands were in the air

What do I mean by this shit
That in four lines I just explained to you
If I let it pass over
I think you'd see it as redundant
At first you'd take it
As if my ego just fed
But I drew the fine line
Of the MC who says it and the one who does it

I don't even know with what voice, with what flow
I'm going to sit down to record
Without filter or style, nor rhythm
For me it's a limiting sign

Did we become giants?
Did we come from the underground?
Or why did we do it without plan B?
Who are they to judge me?

Everything I set out to do one day I did
Walking through the avenues we listened to beats
There really was no guarantee in what I chose
But this was for me

Everything I set out to do one day I did
Walking through the avenues we listened to beats
There really was no guarantee in what I chose
But this was for me