But Anyway

(Adlibs) Verse 1: Now I’m a flash-flood flow-er and a fast mud thrower Who’s known to always fill his “raps-ripped-a-month” quota I’ll just have a club soda. I’m over the hill! In a few years I’ll be a pioneer like Buffalo Bill Fuck it, I still keep the mic tucked Got the right stuff Empty wallet with a “Free Grip” button…nice touch! Life sucks just as much as it’s beautiful Grip came to brighten yours up like a plant in your cubicle Suitable for framin’, put my name in the Hall of Fame with A dollar and a dream’s all I came with Blame it on the rain, or the game, or the matrix It’s all the same shit that I’m out to crush I stay fresh, dressed like a thousand bucks Don’t fuck with Grip Grand, man, his album sucks! Yo, scout’s honor! I’m on some lo-fi and don’t care a bit! Folks know my broke flow—don’t go repairin’ it! (Chorus) Verse 2: Let’s spit the real raw sound! Grip never lost bouts This is big things like your boss’ house! Phenomenal! You’re in awe of me, aren’t you? A breakthrough performance like Nas at the barbeque! Grip get it pronto! Your style is so herb You should put it on tacos and call it cilantro You’re just another notch in my rhyme-book spine Get your own super-rap pill, ‘cuz I took mine! Now I do my own stunts, like light my own blunts You’re a sucker! You never touch the microphone once In a place you really don’t wanna go, like graveyards I don’t even have to Phil the Agony to Train Hard I got some programs, chopped some slow jams Rock the mic like I’m holdin’ my heart in both hands! Grip don’t need a chain to shine ‘Cuz every time I say a rhyme, I’m hangin’ a danger sign! Like… (Chorus)