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Photograph: Sal Rojas
What Lies
What Lies beneath sleeping sheep in wolves clothing
with those capricious eyes (would be unwise if provoking)
'cause just like smoking popoca, si tengo vos en mi voca
para las broncas que qieres... asta de mujeres muy locas.
Puro yeska toka, I'm sportin Joker when able
dismantling instrumentals with those true Ghetto Fables-
Red Writing Hood tales, but who fails to listen?
"Unsold souls glow, just like gold they glisten"
Now, if you're missin' my point, just Hit the Joint
and relax. Where do you think that you're going?
I'm only showing the facts as fat tracks blast
to the seat of your pants, with the drumbeat bumping
has you jumping to dance. So pass the MaryJane!
I heard she came to this party and I ain't ashame to say
that the good times are starting: imparting Game
to the masses on behalf of His glory.
This nation's acting strangely, steady changing his-story.
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