WLK - Run It (feat. Self the Poet) Lyrics

WLK and Self in this Mutha...
Yo imma...Imma start it off like
3 stripes on my new Adidas
Got these haters in they feelings
Bless these haters call the preacher
Say a prayer cause
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
OK
3 stripes on my new Adidas
Got these haters in they feelings
Bless these haters call the preacher
Say a prayer cause
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
OK
Back from the lab
Back here to mac
With the pen and the pad
In the back of the class
Church to the mass
Everything I do is for
The music the people
The mic and the craft
Knuck if you buck
Speak with your chest
I do not admire your set
Put dog like you callin' up a vet
Fee fi fo yeah WLK up next
They hate on my melanin
This my element, ain't it evident
Check my elegance, this ain't relative
I f up the game, ain't celibate, uh
I stay on my positive
F' yo negative, can't discredit it
This unedited, check my heritage
Blacks got more light bulbs than Edison
Wait
They want me to be a pacifist
They must me be off of that cannabis
They need to know that I'll pass a fist
Float like a butterfly, Cassius
Got my fist up I'm an activist
Y'all check the math with an abacus
NVR WLK ALN the catalyst
N-NVR WLK ALN the catalyst (AHHH)
3 stripes on my new Adidas
Got these haters in they feelings
Bless these haters call the preacher
Say a prayer cause
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
OK
3 stripes on my new Adidas
Got these haters in they feelings
Bless these haters call the preacher
Say a prayer cause
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
I'm here to, run it
OK
I was birthed at the bottom, yeah I come from the grotto
Where ****** stackin' up money like they was hittin' the lotto
Yeah I come from the streets, ***** I come from the potholes
I was raised in the basement now I'm approchin' the top floor
Whoa
Drippin' designer, you know I chill like recliners
From the double cup city sip syrup like Aunt Jemima
Told yo girl, we can **** but she can't be my baby momma
Cook a rapper in front his face like my name Benihana's
AHH
I'm in my element
Momma don't let the devil in
He be hollerin' beaconin'
Need a preacher and reverend
For the days I be wrestlin'
Heavy spirits and pestilence
Conversations with God
I ain't heard from the devil since
I ain't heard from the devil since
I ain't heard from the devil since
I ain't heard from the devil since
I ain't heard from the devil since