Control the Flow by Edgar Wyndham Lyrics
[Verse 1: Edgar Wyndham]
Take control of the flow like shackling water
The man's back spittin coals til they cracklin hotter
And just need more fodder to fuel the flame
At home in the water, not in it for the fame
Cuz how many M.C.’s lost they life to the game?
Not talkin’ those shot or other big names
When lyin’ bout cash is whats mostly to blame
For kids wastin they future on quests for fame
So I’m the game’s leo the late bloomer
Lyrics got in the head and ate away like a tumor
And I used to love her ‘til ya’ll cock blocked me
But ya just can’t stop me cuz I blitz like nazis
But ya wanna be a commodity, preachin ignorance?
Or ya gonna body it and start makin a difference?
While I’m always on the guard, I be hypervigilant
And might be militant til ya’ll is feelin’ it
[Verse 2: Edgar Wyndham]
It’s the one who represent without dead presidents
Evidence suggests to not test this precedent
All the spit is redolent of the tradition
Cuz every drop is better spent up on the mission
Autobiographical form causes friction
Cause a lotta ya diction ought not be graphic fiction
I sharpen up just so I could glisten
So pardon me I don’t care if you listen
I’m better at winnin' em, it's Edgar Wyndham
Grindin' so hard that I'm down to the dentin
Edgar in competition with nine MM’s
But these guys ain’t got five nines as friends
But lie about nine’s in front of they friends
All the time these Stan’s wanna dick ride him
They think they titans so they appear with cigars
But they get frightened when they hear me go hard
[Verse 3: Edgar Wyndham]
Rap has become a parody of itself
Wastin’ money on unobtainable wealth
Trappins of material wealth will just haunt ya
While the inferior rappers’ll just just taunt ya
But I’m carnivorous feel the peristalsis
Better be hungry if ya come to battle this
It’s like I was born with a mic in my fist
Also like I might have been born to be so pissed
But these kids who grew up on this hip-hop
Don't know how to properly just let the funk rock
So just don't stop til the breaks of dawn
Keep on, a jazzman up on his horn
So I gotta warn against all these reckless fakes
Who born in an era without respect for the breaks
So give what it takes, diggin up in the crates
Biggin up all of y'all that studied up on the greats
Take control of the flow like shackling water
The man's back spittin coals til they cracklin hotter
And just need more fodder to fuel the flame
At home in the water, not in it for the fame
Cuz how many M.C.’s lost they life to the game?
Not talkin’ those shot or other big names
When lyin’ bout cash is whats mostly to blame
For kids wastin they future on quests for fame
So I’m the game’s leo the late bloomer
Lyrics got in the head and ate away like a tumor
And I used to love her ‘til ya’ll cock blocked me
But ya just can’t stop me cuz I blitz like nazis
But ya wanna be a commodity, preachin ignorance?
Or ya gonna body it and start makin a difference?
While I’m always on the guard, I be hypervigilant
And might be militant til ya’ll is feelin’ it
[Verse 2: Edgar Wyndham]
It’s the one who represent without dead presidents
Evidence suggests to not test this precedent
All the spit is redolent of the tradition
Cuz every drop is better spent up on the mission
Autobiographical form causes friction
Cause a lotta ya diction ought not be graphic fiction
I sharpen up just so I could glisten
So pardon me I don’t care if you listen
I’m better at winnin' em, it's Edgar Wyndham
Grindin' so hard that I'm down to the dentin
Edgar in competition with nine MM’s
But these guys ain’t got five nines as friends
But lie about nine’s in front of they friends
All the time these Stan’s wanna dick ride him
They think they titans so they appear with cigars
But they get frightened when they hear me go hard
[Verse 3: Edgar Wyndham]
Rap has become a parody of itself
Wastin’ money on unobtainable wealth
Trappins of material wealth will just haunt ya
While the inferior rappers’ll just just taunt ya
But I’m carnivorous feel the peristalsis
Better be hungry if ya come to battle this
It’s like I was born with a mic in my fist
Also like I might have been born to be so pissed
But these kids who grew up on this hip-hop
Don't know how to properly just let the funk rock
So just don't stop til the breaks of dawn
Keep on, a jazzman up on his horn
So I gotta warn against all these reckless fakes
Who born in an era without respect for the breaks
So give what it takes, diggin up in the crates
Biggin up all of y'all that studied up on the greats