Intro

Back in the studio

Are you on dope?
Yes.
What kind?
Musical dope.
You get high?
Yes.
Of what?
Music.
Are you on a trip or something?
Yes.
What kind of a trip?
Music.
The People Under The Stairs are back with the win
All city called in, touring like a Griswold
Made it back safe, made the track laced tasty
Scoped out your album and the time that you waste, G
I'm hasty, your keyboard tracks, they don't phase me
Digging through the crates for some gems that amaze me
A musical represent, my LA environment
Porch sitting, beat making, writing rhymes, getting bent
Took the time to combine, me and big Mike rhyme
Make our own beats, fill the streets with the lifeline
Lifelong, through the strife times, I'mma write songs
Three albums deep and couldn't stop if I had a
Calmness with this, my life drama, end quote
I used to be a fan, but with time, I lost hope
So I took the problem in my own hands
Now I'm looking through the scope
With the musical dope, to please fans

It goes on-once again, original styles, taking the top of the pile
Known for moving, controlling your crowd
Double K to skeeze, please, and still loving the beats
Still claiming the streets, still trying to eat
Still high off my feet, do my digging discreet
The Boss Angeles champ, worldwide like a stamp
Can't nobody tell me nothing, I was born raising hell
Bumped the funk straight from heaven, Michael '77
And niggas still can't believe that we came right back
Took a commercial break, we here to bring your fate
On black vinyl, it's final, like the week before vacation
Beating niggas at their own game, state their occupation
So go home and tell your parents you won't need that equipment
You need to cop assistance, your buddy was a witness
The P-U-thrash-suckers like a mosh pit gang
For always and always, the things will never be the same

Only sometimes, overly stand trying
Okay, start that over, send track on similar transplant
over sound that operate similar towns
up state to other state on sampling templates
only sometimes over stand prime
Okay, start that over, send track on similar transplant
over sound to operate similar towns
up state so other state, sample in templates

Turn this in, perfection unit, track schooling
Call us "max cool" and we be hip hop ruling
Original stash taking, non-faking, not to be mistaken as anything nice
(Yo, we like cancer to your life!)
That's so precious and young, but we wicked and old
Tore up plenty of shows, let the story be told
Yo we scolding-ing down niggas since the last time out
Stepping up inside the booth, lashing out with the truth
Prophets of another kind, keep it real on the mind
With the hustle to the grind, this music of mine
Niggas who try to call out, no doubt get hauled out
Bawled out, wrong route, bet I hope you get stalled out
The P be the bully of this so-called rap game
More like a crap game, with no money to claim
Ask who took it, yo, I got it and ain't giving it back
You're living with that, so Thes One deliver 'em that... what?!

It's like a new-born baby, unseen sound, so hold it
I worked too damn hard for you to fucking download it
We been in the lab, all summer, hundred degrees
Making beats, laying in eight-tracks, you know the steez
Like scrounging up the pennies for the ice cream truck
Get a couple extra bucks and go off looking for funk
So basically there's nothing changed since the last time we talked
Couple more crates, more house parties, hanging on the block
Food spots and jokes, the 40 ounce and smokes
We got a little more fame, basically the same blokes
So all the real P fans, this goes out to you
In whatever city you at, whoever your crew
So all the real P fans, this goes out to you
In whatever city you at, whoever your crew
So all the real P fans, gather 'round and take note
Presenting O.S.T., the musical dope