(Verse 1)
Versace suit DG shoes, man I'm smooth/ Pinky ring swing in the breeze, I'm in the grove/
Between me and him, home girl how could you chose?/ You got Squair Blaq on your side, how could you lose?/
I'm not one of these MCs singing the blues/ I'm in the bartender, slanging the booze/ Dude
I ain't the type to find his worth in what he owns/ Made love the beat, she gave birth to a poem/
I is what I is, I is not what I ain't/ Requim for sinners, mix tapes for saints/
I am to words what Kahinde is to paint/ I elevate the street, and take it straight to the bank/
When we roll up, this is a hold up, ain't nothing funny/ So throw your hands up when I'm rocking in your country/
Every now and then the ladies tell me I'm hunky/ I'm old school man, I like my oatmeal chunky/
How can he be so fresh, and yet so funky/ Trim bespoke suit, but the style is chunky/
Like peanut butter/ I never stutter/ No clutter/ I open up my shutters/ and tell the stories of brothers/
And sisters\ and pistol pushers\ that you claim is from the gutter/ I tell 'em open they wings up and flutter/
Some time the truth cuts ya, some time it heals/ It might protect ya, it might reveal/
It might make you numb, it might make you feel/ It might make you run, or pick up your steel/ build.
(Hook)
I was a revolutionary 'til they marked me dead/ You speak too loud feds/ Red dot on your head/
But if you ain't mad, wodie, then it's probably the meds/ You sleeping with the enemy, they all in your bed/
(Chorus)
Do the zombie walk, yea/ Lean back do the zombie, huh/
(Verse 2)
Paul Smith suit, to boot shoes and Ray Bans/ Never paid full price, never need a spray tan/
Side chicks claiming I'm they man, chill/ Your name is not on my Estate plan/ I build
Empires/ My attire is on fire/ You look like a tire fire/ I'm no liar/
Even though I look like a fabricator/ You look like a fabric hater/
If you could a mile inside of my gators/ You'd see em smile at ya, turn around hate ya/
if you had one question to ask your maker/ Would you ask about yourself, or ask about the fakers/
I'm tired of people self proclaiming they wokeness/ I was talking about my own damn life when I wrote this/
People try to tell you that you're losing for your focus/ Lie to your face, then be mad that you noticed/
But remember one thing when they keep on talking/ They think you dead, but you're just sleep walking/
Remember one thing when they keep on talking/ They think you dead, but you're just sleep walking/
(Hook)
I was a revolutionary 'til they marked me dead/ You speak too loud feds/ Red dot on your head/
But if you ain't mad, wodie, then it's probably the meds/ You sleeping with the enemy, they all in your bed/
(Chorus)
Do the zombie walk, yea/ Lean back do the zombie, huh/
Mr. Collage is a music producer from Greece. He crafts his style around the traditional hip hop sound, utilising the use of
samples as well as recorded instruments. A kaleidoscopic array of beats is produced, lots of collaborations take place in the studio and on stage while
travellling around by his sampler and a couple of synths to share his music....more
The perfect combination of potent, motivational bars and a crackling live band backdrop, Poor Legacy are out to inspire change. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 25, 2023