For quality of control I face obstacles, debacles
Hard work and dedication create my options
In opposition to flashing papers headlining j**els as news worthy of being renewed
I spit the steez without the need for ya Washingtonian fee, anchor ears easily like miss Abid
It's been agreed that I'm decreed a pot of cheese in large degree
They say I rob the craft, beg for me to give it back
Feeling justified to spit the real illustrating how I really feel
Spitting rhymes divine en route the climb in front the lights shine
Lines unlost in time, bringing reign unto my legendary prime
The highest rank with greatest length of time - I already defined
Feeling blessed in retrospect the game's digressed and schmoes rap woes to uh-oh-oreos feeling tricked off feeling cold
When they could sow statures higher than those, they place on pedestals
Giving masters up to masters - same old story told - getting trolled with no 'Quality Control'
Wonder why they fold: I reaffirm to having earned the degree burning them
Still they find it hard to see the degree I pack is actually
Indeed that which taught me a thing or three about - Quality Control
Young guns gunning for spots at number one
Claiming selves as #1 self - real wealth
Quality Assurance check, yes- blessed with Quality Control
Is the game alive, or about to die?
Allow me to address at the extent of being placed against the test of lyrical d**h
Literally, lyrically is what I mean
Game is drained is all I'm saying
Perfect time to be playing
Hypnotized by the ice to sink the unsinkable
Treasure chest hunting, bumping chests
Stunting how to rep East, North, South to West
Cheesing off of feeling freedom, but I'm disagreeing
Displeased with the way they self-disease in their reasoning
Feeling treasoned ‘cause it be the same culture that I'm breathing in
In need to get this sh** up off my chest
In need to feed the need in me to speak on my perspect
I sow hymns of knowledge unheard of
A first quarter century of me here I tip-toed in
Took a dip, swam, sped the process without softening
Breathless at the boy's sk**s, quite impressive, game a fresh breathe of
Making sense why he kept himself neglected
Toning up his Chess sk**s for flexing
Miscellaneous minds - instantaneous when placed in presence of who raised the game up
Just a second while I backward step to an*lyze, compare me versus the rest
Trailing top spot - in comparison to young Suleiman - yes, hile witnesses
What's about the game to blind players from seeing what's betoken in their pain?
Feeling king to throne, when facaded into place
In search of gold, with no quality control
This is quality control. This is Quality Control
Good kid M.a.a.d City - raised by a fam of champs
Where lost souls garner pity, he advanced
Gained from the losses many lost
Mossing all en route the TD ‘til he met me and I put his tank on E
Now he's lateral tossing to put his crew on
Blinded to by the real pristine dream team of Elohim
I crop to sprout props – Shawn, Mr. Jones, Marshall, Tre triple O
Comparable in parable, don't you know: This algebra's in my blood Cuz
Regurgitate ya cud cause you ain't a match for my blood
Known to all but the fiends of the rhythms disagreeing to the kneeling
Who rather be G'n, rocking rocks, or OD'n
Sipping poison off of rocks to be seeing what I'm seeing, and I ain't disagreeing
I be the young king in shadow ‘til the game corrupts itself some more
To reign the second coming of my ninja sword
A young yolk spitting saucy, Birthing leaders once followers
With me as the lead, they like to rock with me
Turn a K-Dot from a one-spot
To asking how you take the young Jordan off like a sock
With handles for slinging rocks stunt your single hoof, Suffocate you
Split you into two, turn your flame into my tool, make you part the Cosmo crew
New York I can give to you, Universe is mine all the time
Soul-divine rhymes Timed to cyclic with the tide
Cyd Mansell'n on these fellas, I'm painting pictures telling
I be the penicillin to revive the game
Cause They all sound the same- lame- like no sign of life in them
Evaporating themselves every time they make it rain
With no option but to Pennasol the game, coast it coast-to-coast
I got the flame to collagen to gelatin, in form similar to Elohim
Colorless & unseen yet in every single scene, and everywhere ya claim - I Be
Speak my name - speak synonymous to change the game
None of these top shottas can shut the boy down lyrically
And if you get me hysterically I eat you up like celery
Tasmania's what I be Against ya Looney-Toon tunes
And now my missy she wanna marry me
She see who I really be like Barry B
But closer to Aang with the angles that I rain
Fire-bending master birthed in form of '88 through '89
Circa Tyson KO'in Spinks in fashion time
To print on the back of the second draft pick from where I earned my first prime
Cuatro album by the 2nd-quarter summed
Feeling summoned to address the first name of Mr. Connor Bond
Stating on whose track ish got loud on- he should be mad for getting clowned
A new era with new playas – different statures worth the grabbing for
A different chapter for the culture, in need of revamping – This-me yelling ‘Fore'
Speak the letters B.I.G. in respect to the late King vanquished by the steam
Brought upon by the hype, confused and shook soon as both messiahs took plight
Game tamed by persuasion, derailed en route trash after 'Life After d**h' dropped in math
Has got everybody asking when is hip-hop coming back!?