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Gang Way ft. ialive, Hemlock Ernst, Goldzilla, PT Burnem + Mister

from by Height Keech



Gang Way, it's heating up for the posse cut
Still the rhymes stay colder than a hockey puck
Everyone all around trying to copy us
But can’t repeat what it is, we make it obvious
Fake imposter rosters cant rock with us
The language beautiful like the colors on an octopus
Rocksteady like a mutated rhinoceros
With more variety and evolution than Galapagos

{Height Keech}
Bomb tossing, beat bashing. boys crossing the lines
Like the five man electric, out smashing the signs
I made wine from the vines, plus the mead in the mill
I hit the drum in the night, when it was quiet and still
I’m John Frum on the hill, with a boat full of goods
Driving trucks full of bills, to a shrine in the woods
My minds growing, out-glowing all the corniest creeps
With the meanest team going, got the cleanest of sweeps

{Hemlock Ernst}
Any mandible can cannibal your life in my hands
Candling branches filled with pamphlets on supply in demand
Suppyling vitamins daily, your five alive in a jam
I concentrate, wildstyle the force I operate
Formulas of positive forces
The negative, vibrate and resonate through corridors
Back alleys and choruses
For tourists of the tearing eye, coarse as tongues tested and tried
To escape, the stream of corpses, to the palace inside

Three Sculpture phones, two of them on call waiting
At my shrink’s office staring at a cat painting
All my friends are alive and doing work
XL coogi shirt bigger than uzi vert
Looking for a betty white to slow dance
Hoping the inferno drops betty wright at slow jams
Only rap for the sport and tom foolery
Just warming up to take over for chuck woolery

{PT Burnem}
Diving off the edge and into a forgotten land
Briefcase trusty plus the rhyme stands Heisman hand
No stage, no shoes, no etiquette
Hit you with the wild Bruce Lee type kinetic shit
We keep it under 32 and do it coast to coast
One up to Speak N' Eye, One up to Bowie's ghost
One up to any who illuminate a dark place
That common purpose is connecting us through time and space

Whole world spinning has me feeling Tasmanian
Minus the leather vest repping Harley Davidson
Buck naked, frothing at the mouth
If you’re sitting on your ass, then I’m fucking up your couch
A price menace at any store that I might visit
Never give a free pass to a mic midget
Standard protocol since I was a tyke little
Ketchup and Mustard man coming with them diced pickles


from Raw Routes, released September 2, 2019


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Height Keech Baltimore


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