Cryin' Shame - Foreign Beggars

I walk the light path but dip into vice like a tightrope

But rippin' the mic, I might cope

While I’m living this life, a nice bloke with a villainous side

I wear a smile but it’s still a disguise

A warm and a blizzard arise

Only smoke the most chro, high on cinnamon tight sticks

I’m living a lie, huh, they call it a game

Should I give in and die?

My strong soul figured give it a try

Now I’m dipping five fingers in pie

Foreign Beggars in your pantry, Jack dip on the slide

Yo Orifice, how many styles do we flip on these guys?

It’s like, pay attention, give them a

I hold a cuts like I ain’t hearing them cry

Pouring water like a tear from the sky, as they near their demise

Yo bare MC’s get played by the mind game

It’s a crying shame, rappers can’t rhyme in a time frame

Man it’s quite strange, I ain’t surprised that they fight change

Cause they’re the lying type — hiding they faces, disguise pain

Yo, I spit poison with the violence of war-cries

Approach any cipher rhyme and tyrannous foresight

The worst kind of enemy, mind sicker than porn sites

I force fights, I’m bored like a kid with a toy kite

Your short-sighted plan of action reaps the benefits

Of a minute’s hard work but man I ain’t really feeling that (because?)

There’s nothing worse than a brother that can’t rap

Who’s chatting crap on a track that’s actually made it to wax

This shit’s abominable (horrible) somebody ought to

This brother’s volatile, my rap style’s unstoppable

I’ve got a small case of rap rage

Fact I feel stranger than a Japanese newborn with a black face

And if rap pays I’m in, get the money blood

These days stay grey so we play to win

My face grins at the thought of success

Yo it’s a long and rocky road and I’ma climb it nonetheless

Yo bare MC’s get played by the mind game

It’s a crying shame, rappers can’t rhyme in a time frame

Man it’s quite strange, I ain’t surprised that they fight change

Cause they’re the lying type — hiding they faces, disguise pain

Give this man a guest spot and guess what?

My worst critic turns to the biggest fan I ever got

Did my research like I’m Alan Yentob

Now I’m back to wreck shop, swing a bat smash the shells up

A jagged edge cut for your fleshy gut

Givin' kids a trim, making sure they don’t measure up

Threatenin' the sir, revolver and the leather gloves

See my sat chillin' on the sofa in the gents club

Got an eye for the fine stuff, why not?

Still inspired when my rivals are dried up

You’re ill advised whining lots when I drop

Four million styles live enough

To strike up a right fuss

When the time comes I get psyched up

Like I’m last place blind drunk

I make bare MC’s feel naked and unappreciated

You’re nothing next to me bitch face it

Yo bare MC’s get played by the mind game

It’s a crying shame, rappers can’t rhyme in a time frame

Man it’s quite strange, I ain’t surprised that they fight change

Cause they’re the lying type — hiding they faces, disguise pain