Fyre Blazer

[Verse 1: Jean Grae] Let's begin: Miss Grae The post-traumatic war symptom sufferer The player, hand-bluffer, the shifty-eyed mother Deep city strut-walker, trucker hat hater Knuckle up a peddle rap pusher Made veteran face-smusher Rip out your pacemaker Knock your brain data With block fists 'til it spits out of your sockets So unlogical, the prodigal daughter returns With them horror comic comedy terms (You know you love it) Squirm in your seats, let the bass burn you to pieces Frown 'til your face keeps all those permanent creases Learned leash techniques so I keeps them all close Then I burn all the straps, slack, and watch you toast Drop on ya like "Oh Donna"'s playing "La Bomba," comma Now your kin's wilin' like Ritchie Valen's mama drama Picture me smiling—man, it's all in the words I'm just playing, please don't take this serious I'm just saying, come on [Verse 2: Jean Grae] Featherweight with a heavy tongue, eighty pounds And it's fitted with napalm grenades with the pins out I spit a round of ammo and spin, light candles Dig holes manually or I hop to your family You can't manage me, I'm Santana's song "Black Magic Woman," half manic, half timebomb Neurotic addicts blown—that alone explains that I'm wrong I stay gone like missing kids in a basement with chains on Face it—I'm always gonna lace it up well Receive hate mail, then pray tell why your face swelled I don a cape with a "JG" on it, the sleeves red Three lead pieces that'll pop out of the sleeve net (Best believe that) I mean what I say cause these letters spray With a mean pimp lean, Jean—I'm a demon "I know, she's so dreamy, look at her gleaming!" Nigga, I shine with no polish, uneven—it's just raw (See?) [Verse 3: Jean Grae] Despicable thoughts much bigger than yours I think in broad-terms, long-term winnings of course I figure long earnings: Yachts and Porsches, houses, porches, backyards, pools and stay remorseless for this Y'all think that I don't endorse it? That I wanna stay broke, drinking water out the faucet? Nope. That's where you're wrong I just planned it different. Damn gifted 'Til all the up and ante shifted I'm a nightmare, flipping the standards, rip it candid Tipping the balance, one hand gripping the hammer And dripping rancid tones. You're just a band of clones I strip you down 'til you're living in abandoned homes Plan long—you're up short like bandana tops My plan stops when my kids' kids' nanna drops Then my grandkids find your family—god damn thee I'll quit when I sell y'all candy that can't see