[Lyric] Single Barrel Detroit Freestyle (Clear Soul Forces)

[Verse One: Laz]
If I had a dollar for every dollar that I never had
I’d be a millionaire, writing with a platinum pen and pad
Combination, backpacker subwoofer rap
The front seat McClaren, speeding, back to the future rap
World supposed to end, 2012, you remember that?
About to kill the game, fuck it, take away, bring it back
Every day is like with Hades’ babies laying that I been to Hell and back
Raise your thermostat, stat you little niggas
The phoenix has risen, I flap my wings and set fire to pigeons
Society’s menace, live for the day, tomorrow ain’t given
The type of work we putting in, we ain’t promised a pension
A artist, give this stomach empty and starving no easel
A brush, I still paint you a picture regardless
Mona Lisa with a black woman’s features
Turn it up, J-Roc is in your speaker’s nigga, get ‘em

[Verse Two: J-Roc]
A user to a medical cabinet full of Viagra tablets
I go hard as the heart of a Devil’s Advocate
To talented rappers, you ain’t swagging
The brainiac, rap radius ripping your radio
Your speakers equivalent to the shirt on the back of a Hulkamaniac
It’s Hulkamania, swapping the yellow for the green, Bruce Banner
Bruising beats up, I’m a loose cannon, the gamma grammar, radiation
My pen’s a hammer, go Hamlet, Othello, Romeo
The Shakespeareans to get you rolling like Polio
You don’t know me though, mic checking for my boom bap brethren
Roundhouse and a kickdrum with a slice of pizza
Better than Michael Angelo and Ilajide’s Donatello
The teenage mutants are in the twenties now, hello nigga
Terminator terminology, guillotine Gatling gun
Grammar the anomalies for fulfilling this prophecy
Ducking and dodging poverty, we on this rap shit
Coming equipped with an apostrophe
[Verse Three: E-Fav]
See, I was born to touch the millions of the masses
From down the coast to Africa to over the hills in Nazareth
Properly polished kicks, a Tiger fitted and an ice pick
To chisel at you niggas coming at us on that other shit
Paper we gotta get, we build it up and they demolish it
But them Reagan Era politics produced a bunch of college kids
Cop and drink a fifth, thinking of all the life you missed
I’m talking C’s thrown away, she ramming ‘em on her tits
It’s gotta be more than this, fake shit, can’t stomach
To all my enemies, envy me, no pun intended
Thought I mentioned my intention from the jump start
Swerving right through these mazes, tryna gather my thoughts
Me and all of this art, Picassos and Warhols jotting these vivid memoirs
I’m King Beef with big balls, this require some thought
A bag of weed and a glass of Hen and digest and comprehend
And by the time it blend a potent cocktail and my tale stuffed
In a bunch of bullet shells, bucking ‘em until we prevail, crack
Nigga where your scale? Then all them hoes be dying to show us they tails
Split ‘em and roll three L’s, stressing about the details

[Verse Four: Ilajide]
Hell way, it’s the Midwest Quartet, I’m Cortez
My soul a Corvette crashing upon your doorstep
Transmission in faucet, oil burst through the closet
Michael Wazowski wordsmith, Monsters Inc on the topic
Players, watch the sausage purge, you know I’m into pig
It’s murdering, it’s mortal, fuck Jax Briggs, Sonya Blade
Every day it’s a new wave of control, I’ll isolate my mindstate
With BB Dre headphones nigga, shut ‘em down like overdrive
For 90 days or more, uh-uh oh, take your CD case
Replace it with my demo, rush it right into the station
Bitch, I’m racing with an M-O, get it in like Doris Lynn
Doing Limbo in a limo till they film on Jimmy Kimmel
I say oh that’s me, no more writing in the cracks
Of my wrapped up fortune cookie, no more felonies in tact
Word to my nigga Wimpy, can’t even see the tat
They coming back to ‘ford the pussy, root of all evil
Like Poison Ivy’s family tree, I get around like Shock G
2 P-A-C, now Humpty Humpty keep it thumping like a M-79
Rhyming C-O-D and if you didn’t catch it, press rewind nigga