Fried Yams ft. Zubz Tha Last Letta Lyrics

Yeah. For the heads, you know? (laughs). Yeah. My flow tastes like… (laughs). What I was saying is my flow tastes like… (laughs). Let me just show you

Murderous rhyme ethic, my method

Is quite advanced and you can tell it when I flex it

I mess with, rhymes that's designed effort

Lessly, they press me but I weather

Tsunami waves, New Orleans with no F.E.M.A

I'm the product of both sides, I'm Go-Ji-Ta

And I ain't her for the dance

I'm here for my million-dollar plans, a Cole verse, A HOV feature

A maultese, a pitbull, a whole zebra

A corner for my boy Mulu and Big Diva

I've been through so many beefs I'm a meat cleaver

Either I'm the best or I'm the best and you don't see either

And y'all don't like it when I sound preachy

I said what I said, nobody can out-speech me

I aim for the head, I nick an eyebrow briefly

I came for the bread, I'm Mister Pipe Down, easy

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow weighs like 9 planets

Solar system heavy, You'd need Devine Hands

Just to grab a hold of it. Polar grip. I'm cold with it

44 below zero with it. Grown in the mould of it

Inhale

My flow vapes like Spice Lands

True Magellan with the spelling, explore the writing

Sentences all scented at the centre with the essence of incense

Listen

My flow breaks life's silence

Laudable the second I'm audible. Standing O's, applause and all

My flow breaks light like lenses

Redirecting your focus to feed insatiable hunger for more than dopeness

You long for unique perspectives

And So... my flow tastes like fried yams

Gogo... paka'd a plate with some iced gamer

Wa bo... a side of vleis, nshima bam

That's fine dining for them in devine rhyme form

Senseless

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

Yo

Look

My flow tastes like fried yams

And black boys get ten years for five grams

Black boys who talk back, who might hang

The revolution is the fruition of my plans

Just a child held back in his youth

When they finally let him free he headed straight to the booth

And amidst all the lies he had a moment of truth

They said the world wasn't ready. It was all an excuse

I'm in the cut getting cut up

Watching fans trying to play match-maker, shut up

You frustrate a brother

My people stay gutter

So you might think twice about pressuring your bladder

The life is my lover. And she couldn't find another

While I redefine the culture she be peeking

I'm her husband and she need that kind of comfort

The kind that might kill me to give

A baby trying to have a baby, I'ma build me a crib

You know how

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams

My flow tastes like fried yams