Old Wounds

Say Modena Music
Modena Music
(Laughing)
Say it again
Modena Music
I got a story to tell
I love you, Daddy
I want, I want you to say it
And I wanna hear it
Go

Ain't no way these niggas talking to me
Let's take it way, way back I was the talk of the streets
They called me dramatic cause of the way I barked on a beat
Back when my pops drove the Buick with the cloth on the seats
Went from getting teased for having mad asthma attacks
To cats wigging out, Jonathan just spazzed in that rap
In high school, looking for someone to battle through them empty halls
Like ain't no one to rap against nigga, you've fucking killed them all
Pen or pencil I'll violate em, now back to these rhymes
No fabrication, spit lines fine as Sanaa Lathan
At face value it's hard to read em like hieroglyphics
Highly gifted, old and dirty like Osiris did it
On fire wit it, young Jonathan with that pyro vision
The eagle eye when the feeble lie in his line of vision
Understand me it's not in your best interest to try to open that door
Unless you willing to die for this shit

Modena Music

Yea, this is the reaper, the rap keeper, ugh, ugh
See me on the beat, bet I spat ether, ugh, ugh
Battery pack in a black Jeep
In the back of the back seat
Is a hatchet and two heaters, ugh
Yea, think it's me causing a fucking rage
They call the cops if my ink touches a fucking page
Recite lyrics ignite and set my tongue ablaze
Feel like I'm stuck in a cage until I touch a stage
Naysayers just like to butt in and heighten up shit
Burn em down with that fire and watch em tighten up quick
Midas touch when I'm writing, you wanna try some dumb shit
Try and get hit with an iron fist and flying jumpkick
The man of methods on records, I'm on my iron lung shit
I leave em gassed like a tire pump when I write for fun, bitch
My competition came late to work, I'ma fire some shit
In layman terms I'm a fucking murder for hire
These rappers is old news, I snap like a blown fuse
Beat em to submission then scrap em like old food
Murder that, once I beat em I eat em like soul food
After that, put em back on the burner like cold food, ugh
Your rhymes wack, the culprit of rhymes back
Get attacked, 30 volts in your shoulder your spine cracked
Mind blacked out, thought it was over but I'm back
Get hijacked
Put on a show and get smoked like a dime sack, motherfucker