"Posture" Verse 1. Divine poet. Divine wine? Guess I'll po' it. Kung Fu Panda, more than likely I'ma Po it. Stick around long enough I'll show you my bear necessities. This brought to you by a third of my random raving remedies. Grew out of shife timidy. Not a man of high fashion but I keep a few accessories to exalt what may seem of high taste. Know your own stakes. Ever since 07' been movin at my own pace, eff a race, nigga. Hook We knew they weren't gon' throw us a bone. How naive you thought we were waiting? Never hung with the ones who wouldn't talk. We're about to build our own stations. Still tryna understand most of y'all, that ADD so crazy. You need to fix you're posture. Verse 2. I don't know where I got my height from. I don't know where I got my eyes from, but Maryland where I come from. I don't know where I got my heart from. One day something told me to never run, regardless of the outcome. Now who can say they always stuck to their gun. Used to cross my line of decency for fun. Now I shoot from the hip. In the way while I'm positionin' that barrel, that's what you get. I highly advise you to show your kids now how to take a hit. That goes for both sexes. Now-a-days they say men be actin' like women, when that's demeaning to women. The meaning of catching feelings. You sittin' over there iggin'. I just say y'all actin like children then move to the next. Time don't heal nothin', nah, it only keep goin'. Detect the outcome, but you don't, a lot of y'all loafin'. Don't be lookin' at us, scopin'. We outchea motor boatin' Mother Nature's bussom, ain't perverted how we get her open. Hook [repeats 2x] Written by: James "Husky Hazel" Lane

Lyrics: "4 Spit Sake" I can do what you do easy. Believe me, frontin' niggaz give me hebegeebes. DC birthed me, but PG birped me. Lyrics ain't R rated, but please don't church me. This ain't no freestyle. More like a freelance to all of my local rappers working towards their advance. For the last seven years there's been a failure to launch. So many questions as to why? Well, here goes my response. It simply wasn't time. Little knowledge if the business, plus the team I was with at the time wasn't tryna' see my vision. So I separated myself to further complete the mission. If we were that in tune, it should'na took no convincing. I'm a son of a guitarist. Got the game from my pappy. In and out, but there when he sent his demo to Teddy Riley. He sported that S curl so his hair wouldn't appear nappy. And sung melodic tunes that made women throw him their ha. Being on the road with him? Man, I was so happy. How we cruised them VA streets in that baby blue caddy. Caught flack for me not being so street savvy, cause we rep them blue collars like that man Mad Stalley. Never owned a pair of J's in my life. But thank you Lord for everything that you supplied in my life. I asked forgiveness for the prayers I forget to recite. And no pity for those that been knowin', but keep saying reality bites. You better get right. My last LP was ji slight. The next ride gon' feel a lil different, iight?! You figured third base would get you quicker to home. Get Cal Ripped even if I chose to punt it. Swear you little leaguers don't want it. I'm still that average joe that's unaccounted fo'. That nigga in yo class you ain't take the time to know. Mi llamo, Avellano. A tough act to follow. Was once known as that jay bird with a different shade of indigo. And as far as indie go, been on 2 labels, true colors were shown the moment I thought sum'in was gon' pop. Made it seem like good intent. Almost thought it was heaven sent. Had my niggaz lined up like, Haze, when you gon' drop?! But off that, that's life, slim. Time spent I can never get back. Can't be too blown cause I ain't sign no contracts. Only facts. If they played Ross in the middle if Taurus season, no question I'd push their May, back. Real live, slim. We only promote true livin'. There's probably still teeth marks visible from their last victim. Future business endeavors are forbidden. And these ain't bars. This is my soul leakin', I speak for my emcees. This our lively hood! Put everything on wax aside from me knowin' I'm good. And I know that I'm good, so don't ever think that you could, belittle what's God given. Y'all hang with them constipated pigeons. Full of shh, with barely a wing livid. What's your opposition?! Mines already got slumped. Couldn't fathom my integrity and how I do what I want. I ain't learn how to be punctual from being a punk. Yo, and f that pretty ish, I ain't scared to show my razor bumps, and you shouldn't either. You can't elevate your mind doin' the same procedures. I still spit it fir them quiet boys chillin on the bleachers. You know, the ones with that awkward step. Rep my county even if I might not get that love back. It's 301 to the death! South side to the death! Pull my card? Slim, I'll pull 5 out your deck. Show boat around me? Hm, I'll leave you ship wrecked, I'm a man of respect. Who wan' test? Straight at your neck. If I get the sonnin', it's gon' remind you of Philip Drummond. Rest in peace, Mr. Coleman. Non of these words are stolen. Ain't nothin' but truth I'm holdin'. Still ink free, still drug free, nothin' I'm totin'. And I'll debate what I spit more potent. No zodiac promotin', but yo, how ill is this? Gemini's run the world. Kavelli, Kanye, and Kendrick. Andre 3K, now H-U-S-K, Y? Cause Hazel does it. Retail the same story and fit it within your budget! Don't church me. Church! Written by: James "Husky Hazel" Lane