Underdogs

[Hook: Supastition & Shylow] We made a vow to spit truth when in front of y’all We no superstars with dope boy money dawg All we are, two brothers that hustle hard for the future So you should root for, root for the underdogs [Verse 1: Supastition] That NC flow embedded in me since a embryo The negroes said I wouldn’t prosper like Tim Tebow I was even receiving the treatment of Benzino Bang! A critic can hang from twenty-feet tree ropes So artists that you marveling are nothing than blogger strays Pardon me, pardon this rap game fog machine Classy tracks, I’m King Arthur-ing A guy that sings to this underground rap raw regime Ignore the rollers, homie focus on my words It’s powerful and potent as Ethiopian proverbs A million bucks from living, the lap of luxury Original, imitation is the highest form of fuckery Beats, rhyme, and life, that’s the real we know And sell out, I’d rather juggle SARS-filled needles Inspect your old meat later than Lauryn Hill’s appearances Wait, I take it back—later than Lauryn Hill’s periods When you and your homies spit it’s really nothing serious Lyrically I take Egyptian bricks and construct pyramids No longer restrained by label interferences Forever stick ahead of my time, fuck what year it is I move and maneuver through cities like army brass A Bentley doesn’t fit me, I’m a early-60s Pontiac Shylow and I know the truth is apparent We came back to raise hell like Lucifer’s parents [Hook] [Verse 2: Shylow] From the north reppin’ BSA and that beat Every real head’s favorite MC Otherwise known as the greatest rapper you never heard about Unless you learned about taking cats on the net or word of mouth But turning out credits in MP’s liner notes Just an executive while I perfect these rhyming quotes Don’t get twisted, I’m still committed for rich or broke Just spit some shit I wrote while sticking my dick in your chicken’s throat Just so your critics know this is no attempt to be new at this That futuristic shit I don’t pretend to be You won’t remember me for catering to clubs To television, to radio, to haters and the thugs And no, you won’t see me on some street shit, brandishing heat Getting cats into personal battle and beef shit No, this ain’t gangster, but no, this ain’t conscious My role, it ain’t a savior, my goal, to pay homage to the legends By setting an example for the new Professing the party rec instead of sampling is through This is true school hip hop, I got that full clip For dudes who is not, to stop that bull shit Pull switch, electrify, and eliminate The criminal lyricist forever trying to simulate Shylow and Supastition, wyle out with new conviction We came to restore faith and provide ‘em with true religion [Hook] [Outro: Matter Ov Fact of The Doppelgangaz] Hey fuckin’ Marco! Matter Ov fuckin’ Fact over here If you backin’ off . . . if you that late on a fuckin’ three way, tell him about this fuckin’ video Okay Mr. Bruno? Have a good fuckin’ day