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letra de sick - cvees

cvees (ft. probe dms, swave sevah, and ike p) ft. stat quo – “sick”
[emcee(s): probe dms, stat quo, swave sevah, and ike p]
[producer(s): probe dms]

[hook: all]
it’s so sick. i need some of that grimy sh-t
it’s so sick. i need some of that grimy sh-t
it’s so sick. i need some of that grimy sh-t
it’s so sick. i need some of that grimy sh-t
it’s so sick

[verse 1: probe dms]
yo, yo, i’ll have ‘em
shaking like a bowl of gelatin—shots are absolute
as my adrenaline, a fat p be the emblem
turn the clip off or rip the flesh off your skeleton
fellas get jealous when they hear the tracks. i’ll tell ‘em that
“i’m black.” they ask me, “where’s my melanin?” i’ll tell ‘em, “relax”
chickens, pigeons, pelicans, where you at?
i hope you’re in the back, clucking ‘cause you’re f-cking stuck and
you want to get out and start sucking. who in the
hidouse? probe in conjunction with some funk, flowing out
of function, blowing out the speakers in your trunk
leave you out to lunch, i’m jumping on your head, puncturing skin
thumping in the winter, entering spring, springing in-
-to action, chopping down these n-gg-s into fractions with this guill-
-otine. these are one of the simple things that i do (true)
it’s hindering to them simpletons. what i’m delivering
will have them all shivering, sick with the flu

[verse 2: stat quo]
yeah, i’ll rock with dms and bust
brothers on pms that come through. winner:
all-black acts. i’m so fresh, i’ll take
cash, credits cards, and checks, muhf-cka. hah
stat that money boy, quo the n-gg-, b–tch!
smack from atlanta on the 1-2-5th. i’ll hold
them clips ‘cause i’m so sick (he’s so sick)
don’t like me? you could suck my d-ck. i give
a f-ck if you’re feeling my flow. i’ma eat, trick
mainstream or street sh-t, it don’t matter (now that’s sick)
you better k!ll that chatter. you on your high horse
think you’re all safe, but we got them ladders and ride
away. y’all are scary—ain’t no fearing
the beast. your bakery and crew lay sweet. now when
the stat rock, i’ll fill up seats, sick with heat
leave bruise, scar ‘cause i’m sick on beats
come on

[verse 3: swave sevah]
forever drop-
-ping gems. from now on, it’s not called flow. it’s
called phlegm ‘cause i’ll be spitting nasty sh-t (ewww)
like i had a bad chest cold. flammable mucous
exposed to flame-filled streets—retreat before it explodes
i’m here to test those, expertise of the veteran
cats and tap a chin that ain’t never been tapped (who want it?)
ride a track that ain’t never been rode, hold a mic
that never been held, tell a tale that never been told
ceremonial victorians—that means we’re winning this
cvees, constant victories, crazy venemous
calm but vigorous, charm your villages with
sharp lines and fine penmanship, drop bombs continuous
i’m sick with it, another hip hop junkie
with flows contaminated like the outbreak monkey
my words are like germs, and, once read from the pages
emcees gather around, hoping my style was contagious

[verse 4: ike p]
yo, ike p is a bizarre god, far beyond the norm
the art form leaves you needing an mri
everywhere i go, i see dark skies, hear hearts cry
the shots pop you out my block that’s dropped tough guys
streetwise, d-mn near raised in the slums, pitching for crumbs
with n-gg-s i run, all they know is grams and guns (macs)
understand where this man is from—(where?)—harlem, u-s-
-a, where achmed in the store got two-way cage
no, i don’t own a two-way pager, cellular phone
but the way i communicate will swell up your dome
very brave, cave chest, break bones. while you rolling the wheels
of chrome, i’m on my heels, running in homes (give me that)
with the bats and the silver tape on the roll. sh-t, that’s the ac-
-tion you take when adversity’s taking its toll
born with a goon soul to my tombstone. on this earth
seeking my purpose, spitting the sickest murderous verses

- cvees

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