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lyrics

PackFM:
Last name Evans, first name JJ
I give you good times, all I need is good rhymes
When I'm in the hood I'm looking for love like Ray J
Skeeting up in a Kardashian looking for a payday
Have a baby by me baby, be a single parent
I could write the check but I don't think the shit'll clear
Now everybody listen here, when describing my career
Only one word is necessary, what's that? LEGENDARY
Sound conceited, just a little, is it true? Yes it's very
I never worry till the 33rd of Neveruary
All the rest are secondary, It's like I'm flying
When these words hit my mind, trust me y'all I ain't lying
I wrote these rhymes when I was sitting on plane
So even though I don't smoke I was high like a motherfucka
I don't know how much attention you paying
But like the cat I just named, my style's raw like "fuck a rubber"
I'm 24/7, you just a once a monther
My cup runneth over, I'm from the ground under
I make the crowd wonder is he forreal?
Was he really there? For the competition it ain't really fair
Throw your L's high in the air, dog, the slum billionaire
Walk through the village square, make the people stop and stare
Take a look at me and say ayo, that nigga right there is
Crazy


Tonedeff:
I feel like I’m taking crazy pills! Word to Mugatu.
Dated references, lame impressions and perps wearing costumes
Ain’t no message, just plain repetitive verses and pop tunes
gain acceptance, and it pains me yes, but it’s certainly not news
Same shit it ever was, I’m agent of change, but better, I got proof
Shame niggas get a buzz on the stength of a lame impression that’s not you
Wait… is that Face? Is that Drake? Is That Wayne? Some name with an A?
A case of mistaken identity, Nay? Then hey, what is it? Plagiarism.
Take away the page, they’ll disappear without a trace.
And I got an inkling, listen tracing isn’t talent, shit is basic
When will sink in, kids with paint and dripping palettes missing shades
It’s so outta sync, their little brains can’t mix and match the different shapes
And then when you blink - they skip a grade with tips from daddy’s rich estate
You got to their LinkedIn, resumes are lists of tracks they’ve ripped from playlists
When will the beef end? With a hook upside your nose, some buckled teeth,
A sippy cup and a children’s book entitled ‘Go The Fuck To Sleep’/
I don’t condone the rush of thieving, because it’s old it doesn’t mean/
That you get to own and thus repeat, that which isn’t yours because you tweaked it/
Because the sheeple can’t distinguish tween those notes,
Cause we both know, some sniveling idiot’s thinking that T don’t flow
So please throw stones - You bound to get the gong
When your album sound like seventeen attempts at somebody else's songs.
If the novelty’s wearing off, Lemme run it back and refresh it,
Cause I invented inventive, since back when the internet hit,
Back when we spit on tetris, Back when skills were the metric,
Before Napster Anthems, Before Pack had distilled the question,
Before Stan was dreaded, Before Session killed a full sentence
QN5’s incepted the movement online and wrecked shit
And I’ve Come to think that, accuracy’s a fine line
Come with a hundred screengrabs, bastard’s wanna deny-ny
Suckers called us Netcee rappers, passed by the ties at primetime
Motherfuckers want street raps, then they ask for the WiFi
From the walls of Emceebattles, Rapmusic in 99
Puppet lols, and obscene traffic, animated UI-Is
Sung my lungs out to speed raps, trance and bass, we defi-fied
Public blogs as our team traveled, fans that made it their life life,
Smashed the stage at the highline, classics that age like fine wine
First label to podcast, can’t claim otherwise-wise
My god, my drive sky dives, get pile drived from a high rise
Still tightrope walking for cats that might know me from limewire
Cause time flies, don’t it? Crazy,
My ninth live’s golden, I’m spitting a multiverse until your timeline’s broken
Your constant source of five mic moments
And I got kind eyes, so I might break your face and I might not show it
I’m GOATed, with a flow so potent, that no ocean can host it - DAMN
Tone’s an animal with the voice, Tony Baker should post this - CRAM!
If my name ain’t on the ballot, turn the fucking ballot box into a votive
Tonedeff. Quote it.

credits

from Cold​​​.​​​Killed​​​.​​​Collected​.​2 (2011​-​​​2022), released November 29, 2022
Written by PackFM & Tonedeff
Produced by GrandRiggety

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Tonedeff New York

Emcee / Producer / Singer / Songwriter / Designer / Director / Insomniac.

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