Navigation: T \ T-Bone \ Follow T

Verse 1
You can catch me in the big body S-Class wit chrome spinners, pulling up to the club wit a brim, ice and the chinchilla, Stacking that skrilla in a legal way, rock stadiums from Nicaragua down to San Tropez, Hey, And I aint even gotta curse in my raps, I keep it gully while I’m spitting this fire on hot tracks, my skills speak for themselves, I’m like a young LL back in the day when he was rocking the bells, The Sly Stallone of the microphone, I’m old school like Special K, Turbo and Ozone, rep for my people like I’m Che Guevara, wit a derby and linen pants plus a guallavera, Oh, I’m so sick they sending ambulances to resuscitate the mic from my verbal thrashing, cash advances, and top brand fashion, guaranteed to rock the spot and keep the party peeps dancing.

Verse 2
I Had to switch up the flow for all the DJ’s spinning wax in the club, so when ya hear my joint yall better turn it up, louder, Suvelo, blast that music bro, respect the flow, ya listening to a music pro, the Burt Bacharach of rap is back ready to make ya move ya body and lean back like Joe Crack, so get ya hands in the air and wave them back and forth in the atmosphere, I know ya wondering if the rumors are true, believe the hype, I am the dopest rapper to come through wit brand new series of rap arts like kung fu, you don’t believe me, ya crew could get hung to, I run through anybody opposing, Don’t make me have to tell you again, I’m Gods chosen, like Peter, Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, now everybody just bounce to this new hit song, What!

Verse 3
From sold out arenas to the silver screen, I move crowds and drop hits that make the people scream, stack cream, get chauffeured in stretched out limousines, I’m a hot Album, you just a ahhh 16, T-Bone is hard as it gets and I don’t fly first class, why? I travel with chef’s on private jets, That’s why you mad and upset, hommie I paid my dues though, been ripping these mic’s since tape decks, so place your bets, I’m the best yet, move the crowd and make ya bounce like bad checks, I got next, like the WNBA, defeating me is like blacks joining the KKK, It won’t happen, like hoods without guns clapping, or hip-hop wit no DJ’s and MC’s rapping, It’s contradictory, none of you’ll ever get wit me, the dopest to ever breath on a mic and claim victory.

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