Get Out the Kitchen F/ Priviledge

Play your position or get the fuck out the kitchen
 Take what's yours or keep wishing. My mama'll
 Tell you I don't listen. In addition, there's
 A price for admission. I got pot but not
 To piss in, and if you shut up, might hear the gas
 Hissing. I'm already dead like a Pale-
 -stinian on a mission. After image seared
 In the retina like faded graffiti, cooking pies
 Baked off CD, cut you where it's meaty
 It's what for dinner, my crew mad greedy
 Sauté my forte, BK all day
 Where I get it my way
 Priviledge rip this, Mike Myers surveys
 Spit these ridiculous flows, ripping clothes of
 The same emcee in half. When he steps up
 To bat, every day, it's the same old thing: just
 Some false and fronting motherfuckers everywhere I look around
 They're one and the same, so I touch 'em down
 With this lyrical diction, spit a hype ren-
 -dition of a mic collision with tight wisdom. Yo, the
 Light glistens like the calm of a storm, but it's
 Type crimson. Time shift us, and technicians
 Couldn't keep track of how I trek through dimensions
 Did I mention spitting venomous prose, yelling in tones scarcely
 Audible? Sometimes, it's barely when the volume go
 But always problematic if you hear me right across from you
 Whispering the kiss of death, spitting nothing less until
 These bitches coming out of dresses, ask for Priviledge backstage
 I got game, trying to mack like back in the day
 Where female bathers washed my troubles away just
 Like Semmi and Akeem when they Came to America
 In search of a queen. I'm clinging by a feather on
 The wings of a dream. Dissention, it seems, are in
 The ranks. You're getting benched on your team without no thanks. Like
 A trembling fiend, spend his last on crank. Telling
 These niggas that cats'll come and push that shank while
 You're not looking. Not a Spike Lee joint but still Crooklyn
 These city blocks that we're stuck in, we're running, we're
 Fucking, do drugs and act tough in like
 It's nothing. This is life, cousin. This is my mic and
 I love it, so I'm not fronting. Strife coming, so we
 Stay blunted, Olde-E-guzzling on the block 'til
 The cops tried to stop some, had me down. "Duke
 I got none nuggets, you won't find one of 'em"
 I'm holding tons, son. Fuck a shakedown
 These badge-wearing gangsters don't fool me, they hold guns
 Like Nino Brown to a nigga back like he was
 A lecherous servant. Is that protecting and serving? All
 I see 'em doo is spreading cheeks like sexual perverts, and
 The cats who deserve it skate daily, leaving crews
 Split up, niggas trying to get their corner back like Champ Bailey
 I just want to smoke L's fat as Hank Fraley
 And spit flows deeper than the SEALs in the Navy
 And if I make ten cent, it's all gravy 'cause
 I do it for the love of the game. Trust me, dawg
 The struggle's the aim, it's all a hustle, we all one and the same