K.R.Y.T.I.C. - Fried Yams (feat. Zubz Tha Last Letta)

Yeah. For the heads, you know? (laughs). Yeah. My flow tastes like... (laughs). What I was saying is my flow tastes like... (laughs). Let me just show you

Murderous rhyme ethic, my method
Is quite advanced and you can tell it when I flex it
I mess with, rhymes that's designed effort
Lessly, they press me but I weather
Tsunami waves, New Orleans with no F.E.M.A
I'm the product of both sides, I'm Go-Ji-Ta
And I ain't her for the dance
I'm here for my million-dollar plans, a Cole verse, A HOV feature
A maultese, a pitbull, a whole zebra
A corner for my boy Mulu and Big Diva
I've been through so many beefs I'm a meat cleaver
Either I'm the best or I'm the best and you don't see either
And y'all don't like it when I sound preachy
I said what I said, nobody can out-speech me
I aim for the head, I nick an eyebrow briefly
I came for the bread, I'm Mister Pipe Down, easy

My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow weighs like 9 planets
Solar system heavy, You'd need Devine Hands
Just to grab a hold of it. Polar grip. I'm cold with it
44 below zero with it. Grown in the mould of it
Inhale
My flow vapes like Spice Lands
True Magellan with the spelling, explore the writing
Sentences all scented at the centre with the essence of incense
Listen
My flow breaks life's silence
Laudable the second I'm audible. Standing O's, applause and all
My flow breaks light like lenses
Redirecting your focus to feed insatiable hunger for more than dopeness
You long for unique perspectives
And So... my flow tastes like fried yams
Gogo... paka'd a plate with some iced gamer
Wa bo... a side of vleis, nshima bam
That's fine dining for them in devine rhyme form
Senseless

My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams

Yo
Look
My flow tastes like fried yams
And black boys get ten years for five grams
Black boys who talk back, who might hang
The revolution is the fruition of my plans
Just a child held back in his youth
When they finally let him free he headed straight to the booth
And amidst all the lies he had a moment of truth
They said the world wasn't ready. It was all an excuse
I'm in the cut getting cut up
Watching fans trying to play match-maker, shut up
You frustrate a brother
My people stay gutter
So you might think twice about pressuring your bladder
The life is my lover. And she couldn't find another
While I redefine the culture she be peeking
I'm her husband and she need that kind of comfort
The kind that might kill me to give
A baby trying to have a baby, I'ma build me a crib
You know how

My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams
My flow tastes like fried yams

Written by:
Victor Muligisa

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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