Yeah

Each one, teach one we reachin'

Maryland and Cincinatti to the far east, son

And we just begun to spread the gospel

Substantial, Pase Rock, hip hop apostles

Far from preachin with this art we call rappin'

Takin y'all back to before this all happened

Frontin' hardcore when you barely soft porn

Never penetratin' the inner to get your heart warm

Rock on, at a ridiculous pace

Disrespect hip hop and I'll spit in your face

These kids are a waste of oxygen, it's madness

Get in your case, and all your shit, like back checks

Got my eye on ya, like insanity grabbed ya

Y'all CD packagin, and I can't stand rappers

You're bound to get ripped, then turned into garbage

I stay blessin mics, my followers pay homage

On point like the pens we write with

Livin righteous, in these times of peril and crisis

The pain'll squeeze you lifeless, dead, what's the matter who's the nicest

Who's alive, who's gonna live to see their life

Hopefully me, my lifeline a MC

Extends past paying dues how much it cost to be free

Deep-rooted underground, but on the surface a tree

Branchin out, all I ever really wanted to be

They want to put us in a box, and then pack it away

But we ain't havin that, no pause, no which way

Yo I'm goin to the top and that's where I stay

Fuck the middle ground, cold gettin biz while you was sittin' down

The joint sound hittin now, freestyle'a written down

Your flow's played out money you need to get that shit a style

Speedy on the quick fast, long term we make it last

Forever and a day stay clear on the path cuz yo

Substan

Children of the sun look out here we come

Live in Brooklyn, Maryland's where I'm from

And we don't stop, 'til you've had enough

Five Deez, UV, connect that's what's up

Children of the sun watch out we comin' for ya

Rockin from the 'natti mid-west to California

And we don't stop even when you've had enough

Pase and Substantial dude that's what's up

Blessin' it, effortless

Testin' this, doubt it

Mic specialist son, we kept events crowded

As nice as you wish you were

Ripped mics are my signature

I thought you said this shit is hot

It's barely room temperature

We scorchin', we torturing cats from Cincinatti to New York

And back, word to Pat, don't say jack

When we bankrupt your crew from spinnin' the wheel of fortune, black

We take you there and send you walkin back