Meal Blends / Fame Free

(Volume Three)
Oh shit, oh shit
Ok, shout out my nigga Laze
Shout out my nigga Fame, ok
Brownsville whutup! Laze whutup!
(Y'all know what it is, Wisemen)
Danze, (Wisemen) Brooklyn whutup!
(You are now digesting Thought For Food, Volume Three) Detroit, yeah, peace
Bronzeman, Wisemen, I only fuck with the greats!

OK, pick your own poison, pull the Rolls-Royce in
Full of boysenberry smoke straight out the oyster
Loiterer, the agitator, organ levitator
Pourin' more scorching lines, I orchestrate a crater
Cater thought for food neighbor, digest my labor
Sooner than later, eatin' gator off your amphitheater
Wolfin', whoopin' groupie bushes like a carpet beater
Harsh to meet him, a star, excrete bars when they greet him

It's burning season
Vermin stirring sermons this evening
Wheels spin, surgeon urchin earning his meal blends
Hermits with weed bins, emergent, come the see the kid
Lobsters and sea fish, a mobster in secret
Radically invasive pro-jectiles, you leakin'
Life liquid, needle deep, my scripture might lift 'em

Jesus Feet victim, bodied him for Fame
Boy, I never missed them, your target too low to lift him
Sippin' vixens like I slip open a Guinness
Soakin' in silk smoke out in Venice
Henny shots off the fences
'Til the tide turn Crimson, wax shatter brain business
May the fans be my witness, my witness

Throw it on the grill, I'm cookin' in a suit (this is Thought For Food, Volume Three)
Throw it on the grill, I'm cookin' in a suit
Throw it on the grill, I'm cookin' in a suit
Same shit that's on the grill, gave me leather for the boot
(You are now digesting Thought For Food, Volume Three)

Ladies and gentlemen
Introducing my muthafuckin' nigga from the D, Bronze Nazareth
Ahh, yeah, huh, Bronze Nazareth off the top hazardous
I'll bash ya shit, go home and smoke the cabbage, bitch
Yeah, and it's straight off the head
When I'm at home, guns sprayed off with lead (uh)
They fresh, supersize boxes
Come through with the hammers and the oxes
Yeah, Detroit get it in
I'm that nigga, man, I swim with no fins

Straight up, fuck where you roam
It's so dark and the clouds rain doom
Ain't in my optic, guns all over
SK, nine millimeter Ruger
Yeah, could of pulled your shit
Shit on your crew and I fuck your lady sick, yeah
I'm the nigga, boy, you better catch it
Zoom through Mexican desert

Uh, Fly shit from the tomb
Beat a bitch puss 'til she feel it in the womb
Yeah, you hear it, boy, you better check the record
Mad arrests, boy, hit it on the section
Like the Gong, hit it and the smoke flows up like the bong
I hold the smoke in my hand like LeFleur
Better leave it leave 'em, screamin'
Yeah, aww, yeah, take 'em home, baby