Got the Fever

Fat caps and shit
 Pilots and shit
 Griffins, rustoleum
 Homemades
 Lay-ups, the whole shit man
 For all my real graff niggas, son. Them niggas know what it is, niggas out night, know what im saying? Gettin' that tag on and shit. Yo
 I remenisce days wearin' all black, paint in my knapsack
 Summer squash yellow callin' me, I had to rack that
 Freaking for an inside, perfectly outlined
 Laid make the strip shine, nigga I take mine
 Tags on the J-Line, E-train tunnels
 Flat black, got stacks, fat caps, by bundles it was like that
 Take my spot, I'll be right back
 Handstyles are major, stomp blocks in danger, my rusto's in labor about to give birth to flavor
 Vandal Squad cops play blocks in a LeSabre
 Tryna catch niggas creatin' their name lookin' for fame
 Sometimes you get locked, it's just part of the game
 Anti-freeze in my Griffin I was makin' a stain
 First car to the back of the train, simple and plain
 Wreckin' rack spots shuttin' down leavin' them slain
 Real talk son, graff on the brain shit was insane Nah'mean?
 I got 25 cans in my knapsack
 Hands in the air
 Wanna daydream while im writing graffiti
 I spent hours writin' graffiti
 I spent hours... puttin' up my name in a fat cap
 Yo I can still smell the paint in the air, like I was there
 I used to ride the 7 train way back and just stare
 At the colors on the roof, pale yellow was the shit
 Everybody wildin' out, anybody was a vic
 Pilot marker in my pocket, everything was gettin' hit
 When you come through correct, your whole style get bit
 Triple outline, takin' my time to look crisp
 Can control, crushin' cops straight stomp, we don't miss
 Four fingertips, street krylons like 4 clips
 Kill something spray and pass the weapon, keep steppin'
 Niggas know my style still reppin' no question
 I drop a lot of truth when I rhyme so pay attention
 In New York, we make walls talk free expression
 Beyond comprehension of the regular [?]
 Paint in my pocket, fat cap in my sneaker late night on a mission for self, I got the fever
 I got 25 cans in my knapsack
 Hands in the air
 Wanna daydream while im writing graffiti
 I spent hours writin' graffiti
 I spent hours... puttin' up my name in a fat cap
 Adrenaline rushin' as I see a transit cop comin'
 Now I start runnin', hot pursuit, drop the paint, hop the roof, slipped, fell
 Cut myself, my left hand leakin'
 I'm not tryna go to Central Bookings for the weekend
 I'm moving like a marathon winner never a quitter
 Pigs chasing me for bullshit I'm wondering why they bitter
 So I go left, go right, go left, empty Ave, run around the corner and I hopped into a cab
 Now I'm movin', got away, close call still breathin'
 Shirt ripped, scuffed kicks, out of shape, heavy breathing
 Not discouraged by my mission, never that I'm still proceeding
 Doin' spots, like a heathen
 Monday, to the weekend
 Peace to all the writers catchin' tags every evening
 Spots steamin' hot gleaming permy walls on forever shit
 Drop lines for 7 million avid rebel terrorists
 One love, coming from a spraypaint specialist, you heard?
 I got 25 cans in my knapsack
 Hands in the air
 Wanna daydream while im writing graffiti
 I spent hours writin' graffiti
 I spent hours... puttin' up my name in a fat cap