Wishin Ii Lyrics - Black Thought

PRhyme! Adrian Younge, Royce Da 5'9", DJ Premier. This song here was originally supposed to be done with my man Black Thought. Unfortunately, we lost a great man: Mr. Richard Nichols; R.I.P. To the legendary Roots crew, hold your head. We all continue on, that's how life's supposed to be, and that's how we treat life. So, one day, Riq gave me a call; he said "Yo, that joint you did with Common, y'all wanna do a remix of that?" By the way, shout out to Common. Congratulations on the Oscar, my nigga. John Legend, big up. Word, I said, "yeah, yeah, when y'all wanna do that?" He said, "yo, I'll come over right now". Oh, yeah? Well, step inside the booth. Yo, Riq, it's go time. Wishin': Part II 

Yo, the voice of the announcer signing off 

Salvador, a connoisseur, a hot monologue 

Rachmaninoff, livin' life not by the law 

And I'm a product of that Rakim God Allah 

Forensic files, leaving 'em disemboweled, '87 style 

They chance slimmer than reverend Al or Kevin Liles 

Some friends are vile, still be peddlin' vials 

Off of eleven mile, they wishin' you would 

You prolly better reconcile 

The dark side of to who they rising in prominence 

My crown's taller than Suleiman of The Ottomans 

Wiser than Solomon, mobilizing the following 

They try and give me the Nobel prize for novelists 

Peace to cats that rock MAC knowledge knowledges 

Hood astrologists, illegal anesthesiologists, yo 

El elefante, Bella Fonte 

Keep a regimen ready to give 'em hell if PRhyme say 

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Yo, post traumatic stress, I wear it as a family crest 

I murder at its best, words that'll manifest causing cardiac arrest 

Budapest to Marrakesh, my slang Bangladesh 

My gang's Clarence X, I'm life after death, the last Levine X 

Lettin' every other rapper know they better wear a vest 

I'm pulling in two hundred thousand for appearances 

I wrote a song about it, here it is, yo 

The creature feature search a preacher teacher torch 

Capture, rupture, rapture, reach her, the preacher 

He defeat ya, speak the ether, sneak then creep ya 

Say no peace to meet ya, can't nobody get with me 

Strong suits from Italy, chill, humility what I'm all about, ability, yo 

I wish a nigga would bring the hostility though 

You know how them boys from Philly be 

I'm like cyanide, creeping through the air ducts 

And I got a foul mouth, tell 'em kids earmuffs 

When I was at school, I was who to steer clear of 

Smoking a reefer in the bathroom, sipping Smirnoff 

When it came time for the pictures in the yearbook 

I was up in Paris like an American werewolf 

Years later, yo I'm an American hero verse evil like 

Deerhoof, if I let the bear woof 

They don't recognize me when I'm shopping up in Berdgdorf 

They just know I'm flier than the motherfucking airport 

Therefore they say I'm a sartorial gear whore, yeah 

Photos 

Uh, Ascots on the tailor suits 

You artists throwing bands on the radio like they made you you 

I'm looking for artists on stage to throw tomatoes to 

The way I act you think I'm banned from radio, like Trae Tha Truth 

I don't really care, nigga, I'm getting in 

I've got a C-63, V-Twizzy Benz I'm sitting in 

I'on, I'on, I'on give a fuck, any DJ anywhere 

I'on, I'on give 'em as a triple dare, I'll tie him to a swivel chair 

I'on give 'em spins, ha ha, I'on give 'em greens and count dividends 

Ask around by them D-Town niggas that'll leave you with a concert 

Full of dead fans and bloody merch 

Smoking dope that Celie... That's the color purp 

You might wanna study first 

Every verse lyrical but nutty first 

Every verb and every word is like a speeding bullet 

'Bout to chop your body in half while it's on the way to heaven 

Like Kid Cudi shirt, shit could be a hit but it's gotta be money first 

I rap with a sickness card, Iraq pistol pulling private, shh 

Chris, I think I got the Gully curse 

Underground, underrated, y'all keep digging for answers, like the route to cancer 

I keep turning Preemo beats into chemo treatments, I keep wiggin' like a hoop to Andrew 

I'm clumsy when I shoot, oops, I bet your crew'll scrambled 

I don't write for limelight, I shine the rhyme light down then I'll produce a scandal 

I'm what your baby moms would do for cameras 

I'm leaving everything, from the marriage to her little cooch in shambles 

Your posse even get in my broad way your posse'll perish 

Your posse'll become the posse up there 

I'm outlining all of they bodies in chalk, setting fire to 'em 

To the chocolate on top like chocolate eclairs 

They outfit and jacket is bail staff 

While we in the air, [?] on Lears 

And when we land, we on yatchs saying grazie to the mail staff 

Muah, kiss my ass, y'all can go to hell fast 

I'm just ready for whatever hell brings (Focus, man) 

Getting closer to that real money like Gayle King (That's Oprah's friend) 

I think of nightmares that'll ruining your dreams 

And I just went shopping in China, yeah I flew with the team 

Fuck a translator, I speak fluent, cha-ching 

Y'all holding shit down with that selfie stick 

I'm fly in some shit out of Harvie Nichols and Selfridges 

Even when me and Shady was Abel and Caine 

We worked our magic separately like Angel and Blaine 

Came into this game with a navy like Baby and Wayne 

Now every pair of glasses I have has a crazy insane Jazze Pha gradient frame 

The least most amazing vehicle I have is a lease, though 

It's a beast 4-80 and change 

Y'all tryna pick up Bieber and Drake fans 

Not me, but I'm in the streets though, like a Canadian crane 

To elaborate is to annihilate, please don't make me explain 

Come get your bitch! Before I make her smile, ha 

'Fore I perform a bunch of acts on her like Saturday Night Live then take a bow 

Like Kenan Thompson, I don't believe in nonsense 

I don't got no felonies in my record, I just got a fleeing conscience 

I'm just out here spending money like I'm being sponsored 

I'm just on my Philly crime shit, my ice cold Jack Frost mind 

My black thoughts are my only real accomplice...