Kansas City country boy
they thought of me,
weak-minded.
They are full of it,
it being ignorance
and stroking on its blissfulness
not thinking I could rhyme a rhyme
while riddling through tiring times,
but my metaphors more clean than butt streaks,
and I got flows for Techanina beats
like,
This real rap
fuck the hate
cuz I kills that.
Reppin my town from the K to the C
since the DMV spittin real wack.
Nah I’m kiddin, though
my bars are direct not subliminal.
On another direction
I came here to flex
and I’m not opposed to co-writtens so,
hit me up if you wanna collab
cuz this DMV counter
could put our pens to the pads,
and spark a new wave
better than you’ve ever had.
up.
Slo
Mixed with me,
mixed with my Forever Queen
mixed with we,
mixed with Kansas City,
where we’re from,
royal chiefs cheer
in red, white, blue and gold,
the best barbecue is sold,
actin opposite of what you’re truly reppin
is the named-definition of jeffin,
we infamously known as Killa City
cuz young niggas out there killin silly,
I know cuz
my Grandma’s house
was shot up for no good reason,
and where we’re from
there’s new blood on the leaves
at summer’s change to falls’ season,
but I am
here.
So find me a Boulevard beer,
and your “they” can become “we,”
connecting KC to the DMV.
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