Artist: M.M.O.
Album:  Hot Butter: A New Chamber
Song:   A Jazzy Rhyme
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Intro: Naisha (Trigg-nomm)]
Yo this shit's recording kid
So drop some jazz shit {drop some shit?}
(Nigga just drop some jazzy shit) {put the blunts down}
(Drop some jazzy shit) (son set it off, set it off)

[Naisha]
Just skate a Naisha, mug like Tao Yung
Piss fruit wine, travel like fruit flies
Through blue skies, America, San Pucci can take
Cushion, I owe extinction, and play bronze
Wit violins, we deep like talons
It's Costello, the classic M.J. smoke weed says
Live like the life on ya R.C.A.
The odyssey, blood and poetry, a chateu wit pottery
A mockery, to slay me a Musolieums wit Kennedy
Muscle me, Emilio Savage team
Goodfellas is obscene, my horse-whoop cannons fuck up the scene
Bonjour Madame, sushi, you bleed burgundy
Oh sanata, doing a bada, Benjamin on Pearl Harbor
Uh, you feeling it, spoke the smooth words of Shawn Carter
My day will hood ya rhyme saga, the city in red
Scenic route, dub the income, seven p-um
Bermuda tennis, remember in the a-um
Shit like stankon, or breadrens, we spread like tiger balm
Twisted and 'veal it large, black espionage
Bump Nas, crack the Naisha, all in favor {*echoes*}

[Chorus 2X: Trigg-nomm]
It's A Jazzy Rhyme from the J to the Z
Wit a classic shine like a '98 M3
Smooth as Badu, slow mo from Malibu
To Honolulu, The Massive, we comin' through

[Trigg-nomm]
Peep the latest, Medallion's players
My scene is a drop top black Beem, interior mint green
Plus loaded, pass Naish' the dice, bet he roll it
4-5-6, stock bank, now we holdin'
Niggas is couchie, we absolutely get the lucci
Son, I love money, like Ricky love Lucy
In fact, I knew this cat in Colorado named Ricardo
Pushin' Milano's, money and murder was his motto
He read the Bible, that's only cuz he live the trifle
Knew his days was numbered on this Earth as a disciple
Meanwhile, he stay browsin' for housin'
Cuz black cats just can't play these maps wit thousands
Ice jewels, cuz cash rule, keep a two
True hard knock, take that ass straight to school, son
I got a feeling we gon' rise this far
Word bonds, scratchin' my palm, eatin' shrimp parmagian
True Don Juan, wit the iced out clusters on
You gots to hustle, then son, get ya hustle on
You gots to gamble, then son, get ya gamble on
Big Trigga, best believe, I'm gon' handle long

[Chorus 4X]