Trouble Man Lyrics

[Produced By Chris Liggio and Juggaknots]

[Verse 1: Buddy Slim]
I declare war, the jaw becomes a rappifying weapon
If you step in when your draws get mobbed behind enemy lines
You become a sitting duck but fuck, I ain't giving 'em living trifle
The pen and pad becomes a 12-gauge rifle
This is no laughing matter
Step into this you step in a minefield, your body scatters
Your people try picking up the pieces
But only corny niggas, the attack from a brother like the Buddy never ceases
Without a moment of silence the violence thickens
So if you ain't got it together you slim pickings
Shorts and prisoners are never taken if you faking
All the booty competition, I'm a bag fuck a white flag
Get down and dirty like a brother in the trench
Leave a nigga dead and stinking as he wonders what his stench is
I'm busting clip after clip my artillery will funk on the punk
When ya wanna test my shit

[Interlude: *horns and scratches*]

[Verse 2: Breeze Brewin]
Damn it to hell is it, I feel my brain swell like meningitis
With the slightest mind motion, giving me the notion
That I got it bad I think I got a brain tumor, brain rumor
Such a pain to analyze the strain and then understand it
The seed was planted.. That shit is ill but still
The thought I'm loving got the dome growing
With the biscuit in the oven, shoving nothing but the nutrients
My diet to support me, a whiff of the spliff
A guzzle of the forty to inspire fire thought
To the mic there was marriage, causing competition
Verbal miscarriage of the mental fetus
Greet us with the rugged rhythm then I'm showing
I think I feel my water breaking thus I'm flowing
Timing my contractions, concentrating on my breathing
Heaving curses at the father he has the funk
Cause if I flunk my shit ain't living
Pushing giving every bit of what I'm worth
And as the Brewing drops the lyrical, the miracle of birth

[Interlude: *horns and scratches*]

[Verse 3: Buddy Slim]
I be the sick ass brother, nasty ass nigga
A phony motherfucker grave digger
I know this sounds rough, but I had enough to funk
So part of me the heart of me
So if you corny nigga, it's like clogging up my artery
You cutting circulation, so now it's do or die
While niggas always try to test my shit
Only preservation of the funk is why I kick this
As I give a simple diagnosis of the sickness

[Verse 4: Breeze Brewin]
Now upon the fruits of my labor, your ear feasts
The beast from within, it's some shit, ain't it?
The picture painted, from the use of a noun and a verb
Might disturb; we make you say, "Damn, that nigga's crazy"
Well, if we crazed, deranged, well, then we fit in
If you say the world's a normal place, who the fuck you kidding?
Your mind's blind if you say you haven't seen this
As I walk the fine line between insanity and genius

[Interlude: *horns and scratches*]

(*Fades out with piano*)