Correction Lyrics 40 And a Mule by Sa-Roc

Back

Lyrics

I'm back like I never left
Should've been first of my class, but I second-guessed
Third, I got my little dry spell wet to death
And now they thirst for this holy drip, guess I'm blessed, bong
Imagine being underrated
Most undefeated rhyme orator on your playlist, gender unrelated
They wanna put the Roc in a square box
But when I pop the question, "Who better than I?" They don't come debate it
'Cause I'm young, Black, and gifted, blood
That's the type of traits that make you a statistic, blood
First they chuckle, then they copy your existence, blood
But I'm bespoke, DNA patterns encrypted, blood
That's Black gold, them Mansa Musa bricks
Sahara Desert glow, head scarf with a loose stitch
Politicking off the coast of Amalfi with two hitters
Sipping gun powder, eating a Moroccan cous dish, God

Tell the sound man get the levels up
It's forty and a mule, time to settle up
I ain't in the mood for the small talk
Ever since the grind popped off, I ain't letting up
Tell the sound man get the levels up
It's forty and a mule, time to settle up
I ain't in the mood for the small talk
Ever since the grind popped off, I ain't letting up

District born, two wrists adorned
With something semi-precious, Super Hit sticks is glowing
I'm in a deep state of mind, the Dalai Lama inclined
Plotting to overthrow the Oval and the system's doing
They try to censor me, instantly on a hundred
Named Assata, makes sense I'ma be the most wanted
Wanna send for me, got the sentry on the hunt
With that rrah soundin' like a freaking symphony, son
Pen is my weapon of choice, either that or the sword
Either way, I take my point and leave your matter destroyed
I wage war with every subpar competitor
Vet all of my bars before battle, keep my daggers deployed
They don't want me to win it, though, what a surprise
And they don't like you to weigh in 'til they can cut you to size
But what's a small ax to a redwood?
I'm good on a Grammy, beloved, I'm Morrison, Pulitzer-prized
I'm trying to hike the cliff so I can put my sisters on
Me and this mic just might be Siamese, the grip conjoined
Took eleven years of spitting at God level
Now the merch table stackin' blue faces, that's that Krishna coin
Build generational wealth like trust funds
Goals of Rosewood in the flow's construction
If I get in, everybody coming with me, plus one
On that note, I'ma end it, no more melody, just drums, Roc

music video

Your name will be published. Leave fields blanks to remain anonymous.