Grind 50/50 (track 5)

(Hook)Grind 50/50 Never Rhyme 50/50

(E Money Double)
I may grind 50-50, but never rhyme 50-50,
A sharp eye peeled for all the rappers out to get me,
Tryin' to split me like I split the syllables in this verse,
But my rock solid tactics always seem to put me first!
When you rhyme- It's more or less closer to 80/20,
My mind stay on my grind and my focus is never shifting,
Pure, without a cut, is what you get when you're listening,
Minus the dope and all the big jewels glistening,
Kinda like the Truth, emcees please stop resisting,
Hands behind your back, you're under arrest for suspicion,
Of killin' the game, the reason hip hop is missing,
And now the real die hard is back for his vengeance!
I stay persistent keep, em fresh up out the kitchen,
With lyrics that make the competition like em when they hear em,
Surrounded by Good Guise, when you see me in public,
Rhymin' with a reason, beat jackin', full blown rhyme schemin'

(Hook)Grind 50/50 Never Rhyme 50/50

(Katharsis)
Instead of the clock, man I grind by the month,
The kind of grind that gives no free time, there's no stoppin' for lunch
You see I keep it throwed, down to the chemical code,
Good Guise to the last, down to identical modes,
See we push hard when pushed back, slang verses like kush sacks.
Relax with true facts, step up and get bushwhacked,
Cuz when I grind hard like a rotary wheel,
Any one that steps up says "Damn! I didn't know he could deal,
that type of damage with a cord and a mic, just out of spite!"
So of course that inspiration is why grindin' tonight,
That's right! I grind hard, like my name was Bob Burnquist,
My homies passed me the mic and told me to burn this,
So all that bull-ish you talk about we not concerned with,
Call the cops, I'll say it with or without permits!
Decibel cooked the beat and the G Squared served it,
Slave to the grind, well that's my sermon, so I......


(Hook)Grind 50/50 Never Rhyme 50/50

(Art Is)
No 9-5, I'm on my grind, got no time for the Nickel & Dime,
Drop words, chop 'em up so fine, lay em on down on the line!
No cuts just pure dust, kicked up by my mic lust,
Shots bust so vest up, tribes throw your crest up!
On the streets shining, flippin' verb signing,
Microphone checks every first and fifteenth,
Hear the corners callin, soldiers rise and fall and,
Shells spin in the air and hit the concrete!
It's the street mathematics, ski mask tactics,
Bring back the beat and flip the automatic,
Supply and demand- Basic economic factors,
No delayed product, straight from the manufacturer,
My mind on my grind, practically all the time,
Relate got stack cake if you wanna get a piece of the pie,
In the city hear the kitties crawlin thru the alley,
TX they born to die like NY to Killa Cali.

(Hook)