Biscuit Vision it's the movement get into it
Time ticking loud, clock screaming in my ear,
Microwave meals, dreams cooked in fear.
Ashtray spilling, smoke curling to the dome,
Biscuit vision, baby, bake it till we home.
Dirty south heat, grease popping on the pan,
Midwest cold, trap houses where we stand.
It’s time, it’s time, motherfuckers wake and bake,
Roll the dough, light the stove, get what you can take.
It’s biscuit vision, baby, rise up in the heat,
Join the movement, feel the rhythm in the street.
Gravy on the grind, got that syrup in my veins,
Street choir singing, every note leaves a stain.
Wake up, wake up, ain't no sleeping on this grind,
Dirty South hustle meets Midwest state of mind.
Stacks like pancakes, syrup drip so slow,
Trapping in the kitchen where the biscuits grow.
Rising like the dough, flipping batter on the beat,
Feet sticky from the syrup, blues stomp in the street.
Bassline heavy, like the skillet on the stove,
Funky blues screaming, watch the dirty south explode.
Time’s tickin’, oven mitt grip on the flame
Microwave the brain, poppin’ kernels of pain
Clock hands twitchin’, itching to slap fools
Breakfast for champions, syrup on rap rules
I’m the chef in the lab, cookin’ biscuits of wisdom
Knead the dough slow, feed the rhythm to the system
Grease poppin’, skillet hot, y’all ain’t ready
Butter knife sharp, slice bars like machetes
It’s time, it’s time—wake and bake with the poet,
Biscuit vision, motherfuckers better know it
Get in the movement,get into it,dough’s risin’, don’t blow it
It's biscuit vision, motherfuckers better show it
Dirty south steez with a Midwest twist
Trap house sermons, got ‘em clenching their fists
Flour on my apron, heat the block with the mix
These bars stick like syrup drips, hit after hit
Gravy train rollin’, biscuits stack in the back
Baking on beats, flipping stacks like flapjacks
Kitchen full of smoke, this ain’t for the faint
Got that raw dough flow, paint pictures with the taint
Rise up, rise up, dough gotta swell
Biscuit vision on a mission, break the spell
Morning fog thick, inhale the rebel yell
It’s time, it’s time, motherfuckers wake and bake,
Roll the dough, light the stove, get what you can take.
It’s biscuit vision, baby, rise up in the heat, y'all know it
Join the movement get into it, feel the rhythm in the street.
It’s flour in the air, butter melting in the soul,
Biscuit vision rising, grab your slice and take control.
Hard-hitting blues, trap dreams never fake,
It’s time, it’s time, motherfuckers wake and bake, Biscuit Vision rising fresh dough
Poet419
