Appetizers: Potholderz

[DWIGHT SPITS]<br>I strive to be humble lest I stumble<br>Never sold a jumbo or copped chicken with it`s mumbo sauce<br>Tyson is a Fowl holocaust<br>Fill and gas your whole head up with poetry I`m fed up<br>Ignore cordon bluh<br>Stand up get up<br>Lunge for your knife<br>Don`t forget your potholders<br><br>[MF DOOM]<br>What<br>These old things<br>About to throw them away<br>With the gold rings that make `em don`t fit like O.J<br>Usually I take them off with oil of ole<br>MC`s is crabs in a barrel pass the old bay<br>Hot as hell and it`s a cold day in it<br>Working on a way that we roll away tinted<br>Some say the price of holdin heat is often too high<br>You either be in a coffin or you be the new guy<br>The one that`s too fly to eat shoe pie<br>[never too busy]<br>Never too busy when it comes down to you and I<br>[Swear to god]<br>A lot of niggaz wish to die<br>Need to hold they horses<br>There`s bigger fish to fry<br>Your on the list<br>If not hit the number spot<br>Ten and a half Timbs is made to kick your bumbaclot<br>Could have had a V-8<br>F-150 quad cab but I`ll be straight<br>Money comes and goes like that two bit hussy that night that tried to rush me<br>Dwight pass da dutchie<br>So I can calm down so they don`t get it twisted<br>Take it from the fire side it wont get blistered<br>Got it<br>What happened oh it`s not lit<br>These metal fingers be holding hot shit<br><br>[DWIGHT SPITS]<br>When I was four I pen god was born in new york<br>Back in seventy seven still got nan in the crescent<br>The effervescent of gods presence is thick<br>Unlike vapor<br>Escarole<br>extra roll<br>Word to the baker<br>Peace to the hard working ginger bread makers<br>Looked her up and down said hmmmm too much make up<br>Poor music taste<br>Ten years from being grown up<br>Rappers don`t blow up heads do<br>[awwwww shit]<br>My name is Dwight Spits<br>I`ma sonic addict<br>I use to think it was merely a dangling habit<br>Born under a bad sign<br>I`m serious about this curse of mine<br>I strive to flip it in the fine wine<br>Barely born a virgin is what the stars said<br>Black not white red all over doe like elmo<br>Twenty eight years have passed I feel I`m peaking<br>I make music every weekend<br>It`s a chore<br>A fact of life<br>A labor of love<br>I get mad love but I can test the labor<br>And it`s wages<br>You know death<br>I serving life from this gift of god<br>Don`t forget your potholders my niggaz