The Hand That Leads You

I spit at you like a 9 milli do
Feel and kill a crew
When syllables connect like umbilical cords
Leave frauds in critical, Lord, it’s pitiful
Better tell 'em I’m lethal
Burn his weak crew and all his people
Flows eat through his brain
You can see and reach through his cerebellum
Hurt a fake, when I serve a plate, no one regurgitates
Every word I state rips through bones and vertebrae
Increasing the murder rate
My fans are placed in rehab
My grammar's laced with more shit than sanitation
Every man is facing contamination
Heed advice, Percee P is nice
Coming back to lead us twice like Jesus Christ
Was my flow to blow? Now all you need is ice
Got my hands traced and a big fan base
From every land race
Since this man laced tracks way back
And never seen my damn face

One of a kind
Bright like the sun when it shines
When it come to my rhymes
If you dumb in the mind, don’t sing none of my lines
Hit cities quick, like pretty chicks
Perce ain’t no idiot, hit fifty six
Get with me, shit, that’s one hundred twelve titties licked
Count 'em
Ratta tatta, like a gat I’ll shoot data at you bladder
So scatter, cause I splatter brain matter just for chatter
Hope you run, displays are like switch-blades with AIDS
I get paid, my shit played more than kids crave Pokemon
Rap deacon from that region that got acts even with gats
Leaving the game and fame behind like Cat Stevens
Inspired pros, retired foes
Perce ain’t liable, tryin’ to blow requires dough
People die at shows tryin’ to bust my rapid fire flows
Manipulate rhymes, liquidate and rip a break, bitch get a whip and grapes
I’ll lick the plate and them things those strippers shake
In fact listen, “G”, cats dissin’ P go back missin’ teeth
Acts wish to be like me - a part of black and rap history