Got the Fever

Fat caps and shit

Pilots and shit

Griffins, rustoleum

Homemades

Lay-ups, the whole shit man

For all my real graff niggas, son. Them niggas know what it is, niggas out night, know what im saying? Gettin′ that tag on and shit. Yo

I remenisce days wearin' all black, paint in my knapsack

Summer squash yellow callin′ me, I had to rack that

Freaking for an inside, perfectly outlined

Laid make the strip shine, nigga I take mine

Tags on the J-Line, E-train tunnels

Flat black, got stacks, fat caps, by bundles it was like that

Take my spot, I'll be right back

Handstyles are major, stomp blocks in danger, my rusto's in labor about to give birth to flavor

Vandal Squad cops play blocks in a LeSabre

Tryna catch niggas creatin′ their name lookin′ for fame

Sometimes you get locked, it's just part of the game

Anti-freeze in my Griffin I was makin′ a stain

First car to the back of the train, simple and plain

Wreckin' rack spots shuttin′ down leavin' them slain

Real talk son, graff on the brain shit was insane Nah′mean?

I got 25 cans in my knapsack

Hands in the air

Wanna daydream while im writing graffiti

I spent hours writin' graffiti

I spent hours... puttin' up my name in a fat cap

Yo I can still smell the paint in the air, like I was there

I used to ride the 7 train way back and just stare

At the colors on the roof, pale yellow was the shit

Everybody wildin′ out, anybody was a vic

Pilot marker in my pocket, everything was gettin′ hit

When you come through correct, your whole style get bit

Triple outline, takin' my time to look crisp

Can control, crushin′ cops straight stomp, we don't miss

Four fingertips, street krylons like 4 clips

Kill something spray and pass the weapon, keep steppin′

Niggas know my style still reppin' no question

I drop a lot of truth when I rhyme so pay attention

In New York, we make walls talk free expression

Beyond comprehension of the regular [?]

Paint in my pocket, fat cap in my sneaker late night on a mission for self, I got the fever

I got 25 cans in my knapsack

Hands in the air

Wanna daydream while im writing graffiti

I spent hours writin′ graffiti

I spent hours... puttin' up my name in a fat cap

Adrenaline rushin' as I see a transit cop comin′

Now I start runnin′, hot pursuit, drop the paint, hop the roof, slipped, fell

Cut myself, my left hand leakin'

I′m not tryna go to Central Bookings for the weekend

I'm moving like a marathon winner never a quitter

Pigs chasing me for bullshit I′m wondering why they bitter

So I go left, go right, go left, empty Ave, run around the corner and I hopped into a cab

Now I'm movin′, got away, close call still breathin'

Shirt ripped, scuffed kicks, out of shape, heavy breathing

Not discouraged by my mission, never that I'm still proceeding

Doin′ spots, like a heathen

Monday, to the weekend

Peace to all the writers catchin′ tags every evening

Spots steamin' hot gleaming permy walls on forever shit

Drop lines for 7 million avid rebel terrorists

One love, coming from a spraypaint specialist, you heard?

I got 25 cans in my knapsack

Hands in the air

Wanna daydream while im writing graffiti

I spent hours writin′ graffiti

I spent hours... puttin' up my name in a fat cap