My Year (feat. Rasheed Chappell & Corey Glover)

We be talkin’ bout the

Ain’t no cotton you must plow

Streets don’t look the same

Cause it’s my year

(Pos’s Verse)

In peace we ain’t willing to

rest in resurrect respect in the brand the

3 man collection…… provide parachutes to

drop jewels in silence land upon your mind with

no detection…….. ya subconscious

rooting for us so it allows the injection

just a dose of that 20 plus años

analytics we outlast the crews & the critics

we 180 bit……. Three sixty fifth

days of spit hands on the switch cuz it’s

(my year) I got a piece of the ghetto

walking in the stilettos letting me know that it’s

(my year) sky’s the limit mistaken for the guy who

use to be in De La Soul naw I tell em’ I’m the

one who's still in it….membership for life and

every one of these months is now my wife cuz it’s

(my year) a lot of crews without dues

wants us to wither but the game keeps us around cuz

we know just what to give her. long hip hop dick

anchored in cement and yet we never brick.

Ain’t no cotton you must plow

Streets don’t look the same

Cause it’s my year

(Dave’s Verse)

The confident had me gripping on the KelTec, aint no spell check your intel smells a mess

The field they got holes in the potato sacks, the kitchen aint cold and y’all aint made for that

Drums dig deep like Beatminerz, we woke while y’all sleep with the beat biters

Sixth sense had me coughing up the lyrics, Newport **** trying to lean on my spirits

Hands off the paint, we under the hood, if you let the books tell then the numbers are good

Been here since the ’89 Cool J tour, you know Chris caught a bid, and we sorta slid

And got them blue and red lights and gang affiliated, the long arm of the draw is fully illustrated

I push pens to stay out of the horse play, you pony ass **** ride all day let’s all pray

Ain’t no cotton you must plow

Streets don’t look the same

Cause it’s my year

(Rasheed’s Verse)

It’s my year Times Square

Watch the ball drop

Paid dues

Now it’s my turn to call shots

From the slums

Native Tongue was the currency

Dollars make sense

And my sense of urgency

Currently I’m thoroughly respected

Bridge gaps

I’m thoroughly connected

On thoroughfares and highways

Get high praise

It’s my name up in neon lights

Beyond bright

Vision beyond sight

Chappell with two P’s

Get pee’d on twice

Beat on mics

Till they bleed out life

Violate restraining orders

Cause it be on sight

I’m beyond nice

**** beyond Christ

Resurrect and walk on water

Like l be on ice

I be on dice

Like the 4 5 6

To ever go against

You must be on pipe

And l don’t got a minute to spare

Or a kind word

Either master the flame

Or it’s your urn

I sharpened my blade

Till it was my turn

Now it’s off with your heads

That’s my word

Ain’t no cotton you must plow

Streets don’t look the same

Cause it’s my year

(Monch’s Verse)

****(Gun shot) now that’s the onomatopoeia, and you don’t have to Wonder if it’s Songs In The Key Of / the Music Of My Mind can be spotted through my eyes / my Inner Visions telling me it’s Hotter Than July / I’m anti coagulation medication for these blood clots / throwing up a middle finger for my mug shot / and the soliloquies and syllables still hugging the block like and intricate thugs plot to tuck knots / the mic is like a smith & Wesson / and the lesson is you need to duck down before I buck ****(gun shot) believe me I’ll lift a leaf off of your 4 leaf clover leaving you out of luck / And you are more likely to get struck by lightning than successfully likening yourself to the god of thunder who comes through in the clutch / “BY THE HAND OF GOD YOU’LL GET TOUCHED” / inspiring goals like bicycle kicks you thought not / I’m fire in the hole like Lucifer playing shortstop / the plots clear the top tier, let’s stop there for real b, / it’s cops here my **** / It’s hot here you feel me?

Ain’t no cotton you must plow

Streets don’t look the same

Cause it’s my year