Your Old Droog – Uzbekistan (ft. Phonte & Mach Hommy) (Audio, Lyrics)

Your Old Droog - Uzbekistan (ft. Phonte & Mach Hommy)

Your Old Droog is here with “Uzbekistan” featuring Phonte & Mach Hommy. Listen, stream, buy, mp3 download and read the lyrics to the song.

Your Old Droog Uzbekistan
Your Old Droog Uzbekistan

Sometimes, it behoves listeners to slow down and turn to the underground scene, where lyricism and hard-hitting bars remain a focal point. Often, some of the year’s most lyrically-intricate projects emerge beyond the mainstream’s watchful eye, as Your Old Droog proved with the release of his latest project Dump YOD: Krutoy Edition. Boasting features from El-P, Mach Hommy, Black Thought, Phonte, and more, Dump YOD features the stacked posse cut “Uzbekistan,” on which Mach and Phonte join Droog to body lengthy verses.

Having continuously proven the strength of his pen game, it goes without saying that Droog can body a track with a formidable vernacular as his weapon of choice. “You faker than the laugh from a news anchor is, I don’t care what you think of us, Droog is cantankerous,” he spits. “This job is thankless, really might have to shank a bitch.” It really do be that way sometimes. As expected, Phonte and Mach Homme keep the pace elevated, matching Droog’s stride with a lengthy verse apiece. “In the backyard, with my cousins while my uncle’s drinkin’ Michelob,” spits Phonte. “Teaching fundamentals though, manhood and boxing skills / Never play instruments, they just grab a Glock and spill.”

Your Old Droog – Uzbekistan (ft. Phonte & Mach Hommy)

Lyrics

[Intro: Your Old Droog]
Uh, uh-huh, yeah
Check it out, one, two, yeah, yo

[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
Only way I’d get on a song with you is if you were dyin’ and it was Make-A-Wish
Catch ’em in hell frying, I wouldn’t take a piss
You faker than the laugh from a news anchor is
I don’t care what you think of us, Droog is cantankerous
This job is thankless, really might have to shank a bitch
They change the words to your songs like Al Yankovich
Try and augment the tone, rearrange the pitch
And blow before you even get known, shit’s dangerous
The real thing languishes, the way it is, shit be hurtin’
When nobody insertin’ your disc, it’s disconcertin’ (goddamn)
Can’t let it derail ya
Nowadays you gotta be successful just to be considered a failure (gems)
Slingin’ rap paraphernalia, might’ve sold you grams
Blowing up like I know you’s can’t
Ain’t nobody gotta hold Droog hand
Bitch we live, bred 365 like that Whole Foods brand (what?)
My confidence never hinged upon opinions of another man
More backhand compliments than tennis fans (where’s the love?)
Can’t be on the stage, same time in the stands
Feedback don’t do shit to enhance your business plans
Give a fuck about a fan
Don’t make me back the Uz’ back blow your ass back to Uzbekistan
Backhand smack a stan to Kazakhstan
They ain’t seein’ me, it’s Y.O.D., the classic man

[Verse 2: Phonte]
Niggas co-headline tours to get a bigger gross
Chase challah bread, the scholars, they holler Tiggalo
The Carolina medicine man, come and get a dose
Maestro so ice cold like he in cigaroles
Life as a youngin’, playin’ give-and-go
In the backyard, with my cousins while my uncle’s drinkin’ Michelob
Teaching fundamentals though, manhood and boxing skills
Never play instruments, they just grab a Glock and spill
Movin’ targets, we got lots to kill
We got orders, we got pots to fill, its not revealin’
Ten bars in and I gots the feelin’ to burn these tracks
Have ’em poppin amoxicillin, so maybe wait
I radiate like Sloan Kettering
Sea salt flow, I put it on everything
‘Cause good is hard to find, and better is seldom seen
Don’t question him, cause this is my requiem for a dream
Friday nights on the couch, passed out like a newsletter
If these knew better, they would do better
Comparing me to bullshit, asking who’s better
Nigga please, knock it off like a bootlegger
I’m in the gym everyday with no off switch
So when they size me up for crucifixion, my cross fit
Ease back with all that beeswax
Almonds and grapefruit, my favorite healthy weed snacks

[The God Fahim]
Uh
I could believe that, my watch and my wrist playin’ freeze tag
Dumping like Ali on the speed bag, but I don’t need brag
Sittin’ at the throne with feeders that give me feedback

[Verse 4: Mach-Hommy]
Niggas playin’ with my culture like low-fat yogurt
I know Black yoga, sun salutation, clappin’ MACs over crapola
Cohabitation rappers get passed over (Dump Gawd)
Go at the Haitian, that’s when the mask lower
Let you see the raw face and that’s when you half lotus
Fast forward (yeah)
I’m on that Mar-a-Lago diet, you gotta try it
I crawled out the deprivation tank in black uptowns
Y’all calling that buss down
Comin’ up on the heart of lands, fuck ’round
Either you know what time it is or you square
My confidence is who cares? Shoot the fair
Your noggin, it will lose hair
[?] vous coucher
The obelisk was too near
You had to hop off of son hypothalamus [?]
Pardon my Creole, French for colonist
[?]
You a eager phlebotomist, I’m too rare
My tragedy Khadafi blood type is plentiful where?
I never seen you one time, you never drew near

[Outro: sample]
[?]

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