[black thought] On the actual, I swings like I'm satchel And brings groovy things to my peoples on the natural Inclined to align, index to other flow and through beats The butta kid got yet another bid to serve In groovy stew, peace to all the kids who smuggle buddha Cross the border cause it beez a remedy to ? cola roda? Recruiter of refugees, the urbanite objects Wreck to catch the gravy, grass be the po' baby That I planted in the long run, dig the rhythmic song from The one who goes left see, how many brothers test me? Touch, the texture of the weak and yo I wrecks the comb From picking cause I'm cool and umm, kicks 'pon the dome I'm kicking, on the regular I puts masses in motions Shit'll split your mind open like a canteloupe then The roots and the boots don boost to stomp potholes Mr. job kicker, ease off, cause I got soul enough To sell it, yo let spell it, b-l-a-c-k T-h-o-u-g-h-t don't play When I skits off a land funk that boogies up your pants and Kicks flavor dug by your gramps in johansen Jazz cats that's hip, plus them brothers who scramble Your uncle and your cousins and the wino who gamble..
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