Above The Law

[ KM.G ]
Yo, what's happenin, man?
Yo, they tryin to come down on the ATL when whe speak
They say we on a negative tip
What's up?
[ VERSE 1: Cold 187um ]
Now I'ma kick a way-out style that's smoother than usual
It's from Above The Law, so see, it's crucial
Hype beats are kickin and rippin, yo, with a funky touch
It's done the Ruthless way, some say it's too much
D-o-p-e, please don't misdefine it
That's the way that I live and, that's the style of my rhyme
That's on time, just like your watch keeps tickin
(KM.G) on my side, so that my knowledge keeps stickin
Now what's really known as a radio cut?
When you can's say (shit) and you can't say (fuck)
I really think you wanna hear it
But the radio stations, you see, they still gonna fear it
Yo, I thought this country was based upon freedom of speech
Freedom of press, freedom of your own religion
To make your own decision, now that's baloney
Cause if I gotta play by your rules, I'm bein phoney
Yo, I got to cater to this person or that person
I got to rhyme for the white or the black person?
Why can't it all be equal?
Music is a universal language for all people
I better get off the rebellious tip
Before somebody out there say I'm startin to slip
I ain't trippin, I'm steadily flowin and throwin
Givin you a dope style
Keepin me on top of the pile
Cause ATL'll soon take over the nation
And if you don't wanna hear us, well, change the station
Boo! I sneak in your mind your mind
Sink in your mind, creep from behind
So fast that you won't have time
To deny a brother that's from the streets
Tryin to teach, hopin to reach
Yo, 187's not one that's known to preach
But I wish for each to have freedom of speech
(Congress shall make no law
Respecting an establishment of religion
Or prehibiting the free exercise thereof
Or abridging the freedom of speech or of the press)
[ VERSE 2: Cold 187um ]
They'll milk you to make it understood
They make it good, so that it taste real good
To you, so see, you fall right in it
Your minds are small, they feed you like infants
Like children they'll bring you along
They say we're wrong for makin a rap song
But ATL'll hit you straight up jam after jam
Long as we say what we want, make our stamps, we don't give a damn
Those that wanna sell out need to get the fuck out the business
Cause they ain't doin nothin but bluffin
Me, I get wild every rhyme I release