Slow Blues (Instrumental)

Yeah, get my voice, get the clarity
Sunzini the flame
Let me drop a little something hot, what?
Yeah (we here)
(Yo, turn my vocals up, son)
Turn my voice up (yeah, yo, yeah)
Yo, Brooklyn, Bo King, yeah
All my Russians come on (uh, yo)
Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh
I'm Vast Aire
I got to pull, I got to pull out the guitar on this one
Yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah)
I'm like Ali, better yet, Joe Louis
I will push my hands through you, I don't need bullets
Show me the signal, let's flow
I'll be outside with thirty niggas ready to go
We shine when we rhyme, so I'm, ready to glow
I liked to hem shows, I'm ready to sew
Pass me the needle, you get the cloth
Kunta'll get the thread and we'll all break bread
This is the true birth of a prince
When I die, this song'll be a footprint
I'll be back with the essence in an instant
I heard about Ason, and burnt an incense
Life's ill, don't get it pretzled
I can't show you, but I'll leave a stencil
I'm talking 'bout what matters, not figures
I'm pointing at the moon and you looking at my finger
Come correctly and I don't really give a fuck
Who won't accept me, you see?
I gotta do this for the underground, broke it down
Coney Isle, BK to Uptown, yeah, they gonna know me now
I'm up in the kitchen cooking up some hot shit
Just ask your boy Raekwon, he gon' tell you how I spit, yeah
Byata live it, it's a hustle every day
I'm on the grind tryna see this million pay day
But I stay shining, catch me when I'm up in the scene
Rocking the surplus русская девка silk screens, yeah
Gorilla style, don't make me have to wild out
With the surrealer for realer, caveat, come tell 'bout
Making moves, paying dues on the evening news
The Russian lifestyle, bitches, we never lose
Now give me another blast of that green
'Til I get open and I'm nasty with the sixteen, yeah
They don't even know what's coming
'Til them got them rubbing off the rooster
Chick from C.I. To Brighton Beach, yeah, we Russian sick (sick)
Woo, yeah, yeah, we Russian sick (sick)
Uh-huh, yeah, yeah, the chick is sick (yo, come on, yo)
I'm Young Abraham in front of the projects puffing
If I honor myself then my honor is nothing
Even a spirit of evil in the veins of a junkie
Pay peanuts and you get monkeys
Honkey see, honkey do, yeah, Yacub the foul serpent
Amongst crack dealers, street merchants, Bo King
Yeah, flows from out of my mouth
Up North, Down South, yeah, I'm never without
Extra heat on some black burner, semi assault
Buccaneer, yeah, I'm bucking near holes in your port
'Cause you ain't bustin' nothing, that's studio edits
Who doing the shooting? Your engineer gettin' all the credit
So while you busting shots in a four hour session
I'll be aiming at cops in the name of oppression
Mac-1 to the second power, clap off end
I can hit anything up close or far away
Spray lead at the governor's head 'cause he don't wanna
Break bread with the slaves that never been fed
One for my son's money, two for the show
Three, I gets busy, four, I'm out the door, bro
Five, the click get live, the Sunn'll jive
Blaze that haze in the East, that purple kush on the Westside
Tech vests with the metal slides, from rebel Bedstuy
I do or die, high on the ride
This revolution will be televised, through mics, I'm mesmerized
Sight spies, small fries, living lies
Testing the flame, will get you blowned out the fucking frame
I don't bang, but I will let that Eagle reign
Never catch me tucking the chain, I'm gutter grain
That's word to mther main, sustained in this fucking game
Yeah, he shines like aluminum foil, make the mic boil
Ladies and gentleman, introducing, I'm loyal
Bloodlines royal, hood raised never spoiled
I'm quick to bury a snake, Jake, beneath the soil
Twist that backwood berry croyal
Taste the green as it broil and watch it burn like oil
That independent who stays major, rule one, about my paper
It all started on the block with small cash capers
A force of nature, my mom and pops ain't no glass makers
And if I see you on some shit, I'm a fair shaker
I let it out like Sharon Vegas, serving traitors
Y'all niggas now I shine across the equator