Trouble Man

(*Begins with piano*)
 [Interlude: *horns and scratches*]
 [Buddy Slim]
 I declare war
 The joy becomes a rappifyin weapon
 If you step in
 When your draws get mobbed behind enemy lines
 You become a sittin duck but fuck
 I ain't givin em livin trifle
 The pen and pad becomes a 12 gauge rifle
 This is no laughing matter
 Step into this you step in a minefield
 Your body's scattered
 You people drop pickin up the pieces
 But only corny niggas
 The attack from a brotha like the Buddy never ceases
 Without a moment of silence the violence thickens
 So if you ain't got it together you slim pickings
 Shorts and prisoners are never taken
 If you fakin all the booty competition
 I'm a bag fuck a white flag
 Get down and dirty like a brotha in the trench
 Leave a nigga dead and stinkin as he wonders what his stench is
 I'm bustin clip after clip
 My artillery will funk on the punk
 When ya want to test my shit
 [Interlude: *horns and scratches*]
 [Breezly Brewin]
 Tell it to hell is it
 I feel my brain swell like meningitis
 With the slightest mind motion
 Givin me the notion
 That I got it bad
 I think I got a brain tumor
 Brain rumor
 Such a pain to analyze the strain and then understand it
 The seed was planted
 That shit is ill but still
 The thought I'm lovin got the dome growin
 With the biscuit in the oven
 Shovin nothin but the nutrients
 My diet to support me
 A whiff of the spliff
 A guzzle of the forty to inspire fire thought
 To the mic there was marriage
 Causin competition
 Verbal miscarriage of the mental fetus
 Greet us with the rugged rhythm then I'm showin
 I think I feel my water breakin thus I'm flowin
 Timin my contractions
 Concentratin on my breathin
 Heavin curses at the father he has the funk
 'cause if I flunk my shit ain't livin
 Pushin givin every bit of what I'm worth
 And as the Brewin drops the lyrical
 The miracle of birth
 [Interlude: *horns and scratches*]
 [Buddy Slim]
 I be the sick ass brotha, nasty ass nigga
 A phony motherfucker grave digga
 I know this sounds rough
 But I had enough to funk
 So part of me the heart of me
 So if you corny nigga
 It's like cloggin up my artery
 You cuttin circulation
 So now it's do or die
 While niggas always try to test my shit
 Only preservation of the funk is why I kick this
 As I give a simple diagnosis of the sickness
 [Breezly Brewin]
 Now upon the fruits of my labor
 Your ear feasts
 The beast from within
 It's some shit ain't it
 The picture painted
 From the use of a noun and a verb might disturb
 We make you say, "Damn that nigga's crazy"
 Well if we crazed, deranged well then we fittin
 If you say the world's a normal place
 Who the fuck you kiddin?
 Your mind's blind if you say you haven't seen this
 As I walk the fine line between insanity and genius
 [Interlude: *horns and scratches*]
 (*Fades out with piano*)