Wishin' II

[Intro: DJ Premier]

PRhyme!

Adrian Younge, Royce Da 5'9"

DJ Premier

This song here was originally supposed to be done with my man Black Thought

Unfortunately, we lost a great man

Mr. Richard Nichols; R.I.P

To the legendary Roots crew, hold your head (we love y'all, you know)

We all continue on, that's how life's supposed to be, and that's how we treat life

So... one day, Riq gave me a call

He said "Yo, that joint you did with Common

Y'all still wanna do a remix of that?"

By the way, shout out to Common

Congratulations on the Oscar, my nigga

John Legend, big up

Word, I said, "yeah, yeah

When y'all wanna do that?"

He said, "yo, I'll come over right now"

Oh, yeah? Well, step inside the booth

Yo, Riq, it's go time

Wishin': Part II

[Verse 1: Black Thought]

Yo, the voice of the announcer signing off

Salvador, a connoisseur, a hot monologue

Rachmaninoff, livin' life not by the law

And I'm a product of that Rakim — God, Allah

Forensic files, leaving 'em disemboweled, '87 style

They chance slimmer than reverend Al or Kevin Liles

Some friends are vile, still be peddlin' vials

Off of eleven mile, they wishin' you would

You probably better reconcile

The dark side of to who they rising in prominence

My crown's taller than Suleiman of The Ottoman's

Wiser than Solomon, mobilizing the following

They try and give me the Nobel prize for novelists

Peace to cats that rock MAC knowledge knowledges

Hood astrologists, illegal anesthesiologists, yo

El elefante, Bella Fonte

Keep a regimen ready to give 'em hell if PRhyme say

[Verse 2: Black Thought]

Yo, post-traumatic stress, I wear it as a family crest

I murder at its best, words that'll manifest causing cardiac arrest

Budapest to Marrakesh, my slang Bangladesh

My gang’s Clarence X, I'm life after death, the last larynx

Lettin' every other rapper know they better wear a vest

I'm pulling in two hundred thousand for appearances

I wrote a song about it, here it is, yo

The creature feature search a preacher teacher torch

Capture, rupture, rapture, reach her, the preacher

He defeat ya, speak the ether, sneak then creep ya

Say no peace to meet ya, can't nobody get with me

Strong suits from Italy, chill, humility what I'm all about, ability, yo

I wish a nigga would bring the hostility though

You know how them boys from Philly be

I'm like cyanide, creeping through the air ducts

And I got a foul mouth, tell 'em kids earmuffs

When I was at school, I was who to steer clear of

Smoking reefer in the bathroom, sipping Smirnoff

When it came time for the pictures in the yearbook

I was up in Paris like an American werewolf

Years later, yo I'm an American hero verse evil like

Deerhoof, if I let the bear woof

They don't recognize me when I'm shopping up in Bergdorf

They just know I'm flier than the motherfucking airport

Therefore they say I'm a sartorial gear whore, yeah

[Verse 3: Royce Da 5'9"]

Uh, Ascots on the tailor suits

You artists throwing bands to radio like they made you you

I'm looking for artists on stage to throw tomatoes to

The way I act you think I'm banned from radio, like Trae Tha Truth

I don't really care, nigga, I'm getting yen

I've got a C-63, V-Twizzy Benz I'm sitting in

I'on, I'on, I'on give a fuck, any DJ anywhere

I'on, I'on give 'em as a triple dare, I'll tie him to a swivel chair

I'on give 'em spins, ha ha, I'on give 'em grins and count dividends

Ask around by them D-Town niggas that'll leave you with a concert

Full of dead fans and bloody merch

Smoking dope that Celie... That's the color purp

You might wanna study first

Every verse lyrical but nutty first

Every verb and every word is like a speeding bullet

'Bout to chop your body in half while it's on the way to heaven

Like Kid Cudi shirt, shit could be a hit but it's gotta be money first

I rap with a sickness card, Iraq pistol pulling private, shh

[Interlude: Royce Da 5'9"]

Chris, I think I got the Gully curse

[Verse 4: Royce Da 5'9"]

Underground, underrated, y'all keep digging for answers, like the route to cancer

I keep turning Preemo beats into chemo treatments, I keep wiggin' like a oop to Andrew

I'm clumsy when I shoot, oops, I bet your crew'll scramble

I don't write for limelight, I shine the rhyme light down then I'll produce a scandal

I'm what your baby moms would do for cameras

I'm leaving everything from the marriage to her little cooch in shambles

Your posse even get in my broad way your posse'll perish

Your posse'll become the posse up there

I'm outlining all of they bodies in chalk, setting fire to 'em

To the chocolate on top like chocolate eclairs

They outfit and jacket is Belstaff

While we in the air,  it's Yahtzee on Lears

And when we land, we on yatchs saying grazie to the mail staff

Muah, kiss my ass, y'all can go to hell fast

I'm just ready for whatever hell brings (Focus, man)

Getting closer to that real money like Gayle King (That's Oprah's friend)

I think of nightmares that'll ruin your dreams

And I just went shopping in China, yeah I flew with the team

Fuck a translator, I speak fluent, cha-ching

Y'all holding shit down with that selfie stick

I'm fly in some shit out of Harvey Nichols and Selfridges

Even when me and Shady was Abel and Caine

We worked our magic separately like Angel and Blaine

Came into this game with a navy like Baby and Wayne

Now every pair of glasses I have has a crazy insane Jazze Pha gradient frame

The least most amazing vehicle I have is a lease, though

It's a beast 4-80 and change

Y'all tryna pick up Bieber and Drake fans

Not me, but I'm in the streets though, like a Canadian crane

To elaborate is to annihilate, please don't make me explain

Come get your bitch! Before I make her smile

'Fore I perform a bunch of acts on her like Saturday Night Live then take a bow

Like Kenan Thompson, I don't believe in nonsense

I don't got no felonies in my record, I just got a fleeing conscience

I'm just out here spending money like I'm being sponsored

I'm just on my Philly crime shit, my ice cold Jack Frost mind

My black thoughts are my only real accomplice...