without the instrumental
guitar no pick I lift a brick
and spit it to the crickets
so sota never stay a capella
and if this grin seem stuck
it's cuz this bucket of swag
shit, the bitch don't rust
layer of paint
after layer after layer
a graff artist's gruff
ain't no need to pay her
a poet's tin of snuff
know I'll hit ya back later
cuz right now
we're getting high in the back room
down low in the dark room
soaking up the vapors
so one sec decks
please pull back on the faders
easy up on the speakers
enough to fill the papers
and when I pull out the lighta
put the flame to the blunt cha
better drop that beat
if ya know what's good for ya
Sakul speaking for SOTA
and I'm scratching nothing to nil
but the paint off the walls
and the booze out the bottles
the rainbow fucking waddles
when it's witness to my shades
slowly fades but still it remains
in the wake of me on behalf of all SOTA
cuz I'm like the reflection of light off of rain
just a hella lot brighta
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