[TITLE: THE GUiDE (80s TRAP Edit)] [INTRO — melodic chef-rap pocket] When I’m blazing on the line, Laying out the rhymes, Garnished and clean, See the plate state of mind how I peel mine, You amazed n catch a feel…. From the meal every time! [VERSE 1 — calm, sharp, celestial kitchen imagery] At my station, always pacing, Yet I’m calm, Draw in a constellation, Impatient lay my palms, Psalms and bright observations I keep, Still patience n vibrations what I seek.. Trap lights flicker in the basement heat, But I move with elevation, While they chase validation, I’m building up a new foundation. [beat drop] I’m on the corner counting ages, Ancient pages in my bars! [DOUBLE-TIME FAST CADENCE — crisp diction, punchlines hit] Scrolls go hard From the line to the yards, From the kitchen soliloquy, Fulfilling me so far… Scars be thrilling me When I put my knife skills to killer beats, Strokes above par, Let’s raise the bar… You know I’ll smoke a free willingly, On tilt, silly me, Stilt skinned thick, Still sick… Quick n slippery, I could trick the fickle, see, There’s levels n degrees, Not just F’s n C’s, You know my steeze. These bars are hard to swallow… You see, bro? I’m a big pill, Yo, Y’all called placebos, I run around tall, Spitting flows free at foes.. Ayo, Slick tranquility, And ain’t nobody as ill as me! [HOOK — melodic, confident] When I’m blazing in my backyard, Every gritty bar, Every scar, every spark, Still cooking in the dark. When I’m blazing on the line, Every rhyme gets charred, Garnished clean, how I peel mine, Spittin michelin flem slime, It glides far, Ayo, We The Guides with the bars. [VERSE 2 — cinematic train-platform pocket] Saint on the platform, In the late storm, Train cars painted far I see my reflection In the windows, Old crescendos In these scars. Far from glittering stars, From cracked stoop epiphany, To symphonies of bars, Ain’t nobody as real as me. I used to run plates Through the tri-state, Late nights, no breaks, Level 3 Sommelier, Make you aware of this delicately prepared ribeye steak.. Bordeaux fate be the pairing I make! Educate, demonstrate wait, Then I set the pace, Now they quote my old moves Like they studying tape. Slant route to the cooler, Chris walk-in talkin, Steven hawking be stalking n drooling like a fiend, Maneuvers is made, joy dumb and esteemed With the stick ya boy sick on this drum machine, To and fro, I used to run with real G’s, Ayo, Here’s a key to steal, From true hustlers, in the scene, Ain’t nothing funny ’bout the money what I mean… EVERY, DOLLAR GOT A DREAM! Eighteen stars under the apron, A Quarter-century what I killed Calculate the Stilt in what we spent, Evidently you admire cuz this style past heaven sent, Wrath what we desire! Player haters be senile to the fire we require like rent, meanwhile our supporters never tiring East Coast to West Coast, They still ask when will the Saint skin return, Retirement was a rumor, We still got lessons left to learn. From England to NYC, Stories travel ’cross the pond, Palm fronds where I walk, Still calm when the pressure’s on. Never balk, never fold, Never panic when it’s crunch time, Built my name from sweat and burns, Not luck and punchlines. Faith tested by environment, Still standing where I began, Chef, fisherman, Business hand and family man Some chase trends, Some chase fame, Some vanish when the lights dim, I stayed true to who I was, That’s why they’re still tapped in. [OUTRO / FINAL HOOK — bigger, melodic, triumphant] When I’m blazing every gritty bar, Every scar, every spark, Still cooking in the dark. When I’m blazing on the line, Every rhyme gets charred, Garnished clean, peeled mine, We The Guides with the bars.
