Self Explanatory

{Journalist}

(Journalist) Uh, Journalist, (idealist), and it's a journey

(I'm the journalist) Urban wars (the flow) I don't fuck around

Crazy World, Motown motherfuckers

Uh, dream team (Idealist, and it's a journey, I'm the Journalist)

I don't fuck around dunny

Yo, aiyyo, right from the gate, dog

It shouldn't be no type of debate

'Bout who's the nicest with a mic and a tape

You know I'm bright in the waist

When I'm shining up the pipe with an eight

Before I leave you with a trifiling face

If you got Salsbury I play Marbury

Hit you with the handle

Before I light you up like the wick that's on a candle

Have your bitch watch shots ripping through your flannel

Lower parts to your heart sticking to her sandals

Journalist, but you can call me tupee splitter

You sweeter than the bottom of your Kool-Aid pitcher

You think it's just musical here, I bust a few in the air

While your lil' sister's doing your hair

Still in your crib, one shot pilling your wig

I blow out your face, while the combs still in your hair

Too severe for a medical truck I could bet a few bucks

They gon' probably have to shovel you up, what

(Hook- Samples + and random DJ scratches)

Idealist, and it's a journey, oh I'm the journalist

The flow, (I don't fuck around)

Uh, Idealist, and it's a journey, oh I'm the journalist

The flow (I don't fuck around, dunny)

{Journalist}

See yo, I keep them biscuits squirting

'Till the wrists is hurting

'Till your shit ooze out like dish detergent

I still keep the chickens lurking

Got bitches circlin' 'cause they see me in the whip with Erving

I will show you a nina

If you don't think the auto can turn your torso to a sprinkler

Then I pull off in the beautiful cat

New Jag, no tints, I'm a beautiful cat

1-6, y'all know what we do to you, black

All my niggas squeeze triggers 'til they cuticles crack

If we got a full clip, we'll be sending you half

Hole in your legs, give your calf a genuine draft

Like the bottle of beer, then a minute you pass

Tap your pockets, see how many benjis you had

Hit the spot, tell Carl call to send a few scags

From my criminal staff from that cynical ave

Machos mothefucker

Hook

{Journalist}

See yo, I studied the block, so I got damn good methods

On how to burn strips like I can't cook breakfast

You ain't stabilized, it help when your label rise

Every time I turn around, your face in the cable guide

To my rap books, you can find me shackled

Blow out your shit, leave it in your Mommy's scrapple

I could, kindly catch you, let the tommy clap you

Fill you with more holes than a Chinese apple

You hit gasoline talk fast and lean

Pop fly, and get left with half a wing

Watch who you talking to get your glasses cleaned

Before I be forced to empty out this magazine

Barrels throwing out twenty like a Jack in Queens

Leave you somewhere throwing up your last cuisine

Most of the week, you find Journ over in beats

When it comes to the throne, homes, you just holding my seat, uh

Hook