Fuckin' wit' a thug
... In tha streetz, in tha club ...
Ladies and gents, pimps and hoes, boys and girls ... welcome, make yourself comfortable. But please ... please leave your judgments at the door. We can get to that later. My name is Mike Kingston. King of the Mic. That's right, King of the Mic, Mike Kingston. But you can call me what you want..
This is my Oblivion public service announcement.
I'm like no other in this business. I'mma straight up whiteboy. And I love that shit! I do. Corny too some. Repulsive too others. But there's no 'emo' here. No 'punk' here. No 'skater' here. No 'preppy' here. Most of them haters and ignorant close-minded fucks like that label 'wigger'. Because I'm white and I keep it so fresh, so clean. Because I speak different. Because I got that unit up in my trunk, because I get drunk off that Hennessey and let my pants sag. Because I prefer 24' inches on an old school Chevy frame with airbags. Because I prefer to hustle a bitch, and bitchslap a hater, while I grab my dick. Because I really don't give a shit ... But, hey..
I'm just a product of my environment.. Get over it.
And rather you want to believe it or not, or rather you care, or not ... I'm only being true .. And that's the truth. You can catch me creepin' through ya' hood with an old school Chevy, painted with candy paint, on 20' inches or better. When I let that trunk go a knockin', rattling your windows. I drank Hennessey with my RedBull. Yes, I do. I split Dutch Masters with my thumbnail, then proceed to roll it with the Durty South's finest KusH. No stems, no seeds. I roll it tight. I smoke it slow. I pass it to the right, never to the left. And when I enter the club? I rep where I from. Like Lil' Jon ... I throw my hood up. And I'm never scared. Never. Shit, I'm rollin' with 20 honkies, deep. We just waitin' for some shit to pop off. We two-step, then we knock ya' block off. Bet that, dude. We don't play. We some Flowda Boah's. Translation: We are some Florida boys.
I'm bilingual. If you didn't know. I can speak whiteboy. I can speak hood. I can put them together and make it sound good, like no other. But I'd rather speak in rhythm. So, when I get with 'em, I let it flow. Make your best bitch blow. While I'm inhalin' that 'Dro. I got that Hustla' status. Because you never had us. You never will. I shoot to KILL. And I kill for the thrill. I'mma big ass whiteboy, ridin' clean on a Chevy toy.
Don't get it misconstrued. I'm a grown ass man, so pursue me like that. When it's time to put in work ... I do just that - put in work. When the bell rings, putting you down is the only thing that matters. Whatever the cost may be. So call me what you want. Label this, label me that. But when you get in my face ... ya' going doooown..
Cloooown..
This is my Oblivion debut. And no doubt, I'm a little rusty. I got some kinks to work out, but that's a given when you've been out of the game for a minute. Which I have. But, nonetheless, here I am. Give it sometime, and everybody will know me. Some will fear me, some will hate on me. Either way.. you will know me. The big bad whiteboy G. King of the Mic - flip my tongue like a dyke. I do it for the spite. Because I stay clean when I step on the scene. Get like me..
Amaru Lajon. My first victim ... opponent ... whatever. I'm assuming he's a fan of Tupac Amaru Shakur. Hence, Amaru. The greatest poet in our day in age. A man that became a myth, a legend.. A man that changed his name to 'Makaveli' before his own death. 'Makaveli' is a pseudonym derived from the Italian political writer Niccolò Machiavelli. Who was an Italian war strategist who specialized in faking ones death to fool there enemies. While in prison, Tupac studied Machioveli in great detail and read all his books in great detail..
I guess my point is that Tupac Amaru Shakur made an influence on millions in the late 90's and even to this day, he does. He was on some Jesus Christ stuff. He was the spark to the flame. And he'll forever be remembered by my generation. White or black. He spoke the TRUTH. He spoke about pain, and about jealousy from peers. He was a poet, a writer, a resistance. He said it best when he asked..
“Why am I fighting to live, if I'm just living to fight?
Why am I trying to see, when there ain't nothing in sight?
Why am I trying to give, when no one gives me a try?
Why am I dying to live, if I'm just living to die?
Someone tell me why?”
-Tupac Amaru Shakur
If you can't feel that? Then you simply haven't been school'd in that thing called LIFE. But don't worry, you will some day. God willing. Same goes for Amura Lajon. I caught his latest promo, well, I tried to. Blah. I seen a lot of shit talking. But nothing firm. I wanted to smack the shit out of him, by the fifth sentence. He has no respect. I can't stand that. And I'll point you out in a hot minute for something like that. I'll beat the breaks off you in a hot minute for that. No doubt. Try me. And I really don't think it's a coincidence that he's my first opponent. But it's all gravy. The fake will lose tonight. And the real will win tonight. And I'm here to tell ya', you're fake. Fake. So, what's that make me?
Get it? Got it? ... Great.
I'm sorry that I couldn't make my appearance a little sooner. I got caught up in some cutty, feelin' like some putty. Haha. But, at least I'm here now, huh? Mr. Amaru Lajon.. Watch him die slow.. When his eyes roll to the back of his head. And his body turned cold..
... Fuck Fear ...
[Mike L. Kingston - Blog - Fuck Fear]
Fuck fear, my hand's steady on the wheel when I steer. I'm on this stage, like an animal fightin' out his cage. Pure rage, pure intensity ... pure simplicity. Listen close, I'mma tell ya' about me. I'm calm, cool, collective, and not with that bullshit, I just let it rip. Show 'em that one of a kind grip. When I let it slip, two-steppin' in muh Ed Hardy fit. I'm just so fresh, so clean, when I step on the scene. With that drank up in my cup, and throwin' meh hood up. Shut up and be a good slut. Lay back, and watch me get up in them guts. Scream my name. I got no game. I got these haters in muh range. The Devil's too blame. No shame. I got that Dopeboii Magic, when I tag it. Might even brag it, let my pants sag it. When I label you a fucking faggot..
Fuck fear. I'm sick of bigots and fakes. They're all queer. I see you creepin' in that 'closet'. Like a deer in headlights, you pause it. You damn right, I'm the one to cause it. Call you out for what you are - a fake, a liar, a wanna-be, I can see. When I'm too busy with ya' girl's lips on my dick, you hypocrite. Yeah, I'm a little bit crude, a little bit rude. Whatcha' wanna do about it, dude? ..Come see me - you can't be me. You can't stop me. And I bet you jock me, when you attempt to block me. The King of the Mic. Mr. M-I-K-E..
Fuck fear, Amaru Lajon takes it in the rear without one tear. That's a strong accusation, but I have no fear. Prove me wrong. Something other than the same ol' song. Mr. Amaru Lajon, stop frontin', you Uncle Tom. Let it be known, I DROP BOMBS. Boom! I come to bring the doom. Make room, when I loom. This is my arrival, Friday Night Survival. Survival of the fittest. That's me, I'm the richest. Rags to Riches, bitches. I piss on snitches. And I give Lajon fifty stitches ... Across is forehead, crimson red. Step back, watch me tread. Tread over Mr. Lajon, the undercover Uncle Tom..
Mr. Amaru Lajon, hi, my name is Mike Kingston. It's a pleasure to meet you. And if there's anything I said about you or to you, that might have offended you? ... Hmmm.. good? Yeah, good. You got no respect for others. So, I know you got no resepct for me. I'm nobody. And hey, we all get what we deserve by the end of our day, everyday. That's a given. You can live in denial, or accept it. I'm not sure about you, but I choose to accept it..
So while you cry and complain about who you're going up against, with your jibberish and calling your opponents 'jobbers'. I'm right here telling you that I'm no 'jobber', in perfect english. In fact, I'm right here telling you just how I'm going to humiliate you. The same guy that thinks he's a 'living legend'? ... Pssh. Because you know a couple guys name Silk and Shyne? What's that? Soap on a rope? Ha. Is that your soap on a rope, Amura?
Newsflash..
Nobody cares, fuckboy. You're boring. It's brutal when you grab the mic, ratings plummet. They want something fresh, something new, something worth watching. And don't be mad at me when I tell you that. I'm just being real with you, pimpin'. But it's okay, you can hate on me..
Living Legend? ... Bahaha.
If you're a living legend? I want my refund. I've been ripped off. You as a living legend? Is a blatant joke. I mean hey, I can be conceited at times - most of the time. But I'm not screaming Living Legend like some tard. Get real, Amura. You're a Living Douchebag, with absolutely no swag.
Much less, even know the definition of having 'swag'. Newsflash, it's like having a couple grand in ya' pocket ... Amaru, I'm schooling you. Pay attention, son. Chin up, mouth shut, and you might learn something. I hope you show up, so we can watch the garbage spew from your lips. Because I know you can't stand on your own two feet. You're weak. And I work circles around you. Even you know this. So, save face, and man up too it, boy. Know your role, and step down. You're not in my league. And you're not on my level..
I don't even know you, and I still know everything there is to know about you. You got 'chump' written across your forehead. And I eat chumps for breakfast. So, just imagine the two of us going one on one inside the ring. I can already hear the fat lady sing..