MURS & SLUG - Early Mornin' Tony lyrics

rate me

Seven in the morning police at my door

But I spent last night on someone else's floor

Out the back window didn't know where I was

I was still kinda buzzed with a head full of drugs

Lookin' at my nicks and it's about that time

To go and save the world from the daily grind

Speakin' of which, I gotta hit the OC

For a quick sess through my skate park OG's

Oh please, this is still mere city

Wanna check my street cred go ahead come get me

On the block like mopeds or the threads on your Dickies

And I wrote code red off the hair so swiftly

Stole the scribbles show

Man had the feds go get me

Still got head from your thoroughbred

No hickies, oh really?

Throw a veil on your Philly

Took pictures of a crack like that bell out in Philly

Had to kick out my tail cause she smelled like Billy

Smoking blunts with the breath, so stale it could've killed me

Silly quick-witted when I spit the shit get it

I mean sit kitted, I mean, aw shit

It's amazing I remember all the different shit I'm into

I try to stay focused on getting legal tender

Gotta stay on the grind cause if the legends get signed

Gotta spit back dope between 8 7 6 5

4 and 3 and 2 and 1

And when I'm on the mic, the women come

Down with A N T Murs and you're not

And I got more rhymes than California got cops

Nine the mornin' police at my door

Tryin' to wonder what the fuck they want to talk to me for

She said she wanted money for some fundraiser shit

I slammed the door in her face and said "Fuck you bitch! "

Looking at my nicks and it's about that time

For me to light another cigaratte and settle my mind

Footsoldier, been waiting for the took over

Probably won't be getting negative, she looks sober

I'm a primate with pimp-like mind state

Raising the curb to make contemporaries irate

Still obsessed with your breasts and your fishnet

Eating on my thin chest screaming out "Big West! "

My nature is to make you a believer

On your stereo receiver or your barely legal beaver

Buzzin' overhead spittin' fly game

Nowadays cats be getting paid and layed up off of my name

Wait a minte, take a number

Made a visit to your village with this fresh baked biscuit

And stayed consistent

Breaking in the heads ain't as difficult

When half of them are trippin' over how they missed the boat

The key is controlled but your flow is contrived

Keep it in my soul take it with when I die

Plug that mic in and let heaven get live

Turn a groupie into an angel when she 8 7 6 5

4 and 3 and 2 and 1

And when I'm on the mic all your homegirls come

Down with A N T Slug and you're not

And I got more rhymes than rappers who got shot