Belying its innocuous title, Sa-Roc’s delivery on “I Come In Peace” reads like a direct threat to anyone in question of her rhyme skills. This week, she takes us on a lyrical joyride, weaving in between metaphysical references & clever punch lines that result in a dizzying display of vocal dexterity. Word of advice? Buckle up. The queen doesn’t seem to be easing up on her reign anytime soon…This music video is directed by Sol Messiah!!!
I don’t even know where to start, probably cuz I’m playing such a huge part in terminating rap professionals.
One aggressive stanza from Roc, have em somberly sauntering out the studio en masse-rap processional.
The lyrical Messiah from the district of Columbiana, where fast talkers prey upon the meek with that arm and hammer.
I’m giving you a peek of your future, this is sonogrammar, annihilating any opposition with this sonic ammo.
It’s a gamble going up against the illest flow.
But I’m widely known for how hard my PENicillin go.
Extraterrestrial from out the inner city, they resent me cuz of how my antenna innocently glow.
My braggadocious magnum opus got em wide open.
Them visionary bars keep that 3rd eye focused.
I’m tryna spark a revolution with these fire vocals, these IG celebrities too busy being antisocial.
But I’m the people’s champ, Ali every release i ever tamper with and trample any foes that get into my way.
Rumble anybody in the concrete jungle, have the entire underground chanting Sa-Roc Bomaye.
I’m illuminating every verb and noun in my vocabulary, have em starting rumors trying to ruin my day.
But I still throw up pyramids with every lyric spit, so paparazzi keeping watch in every room I lay.
Honey skinned diamond out the roughest part of the terrain.
The last standing heir apparent of the Moorish reign.
Pressure got me snapping on the drum patterns, claiming every block within earshot into the Lord’s domain.
I done had family back stab me til my blood run.
And old friends that held me down when I ain’t had nothing.
Now strangers tryna sell me follows and adds like mad men.
Cuz I’m on W mag covers modeling fads in fashion.
I’m a rhyme assassin, call me sharp shooter.
Got the locs Bantu knotted up just like a black Buddha, while they chasing after bread, cream, guap, Gouda.
I’m stacking silver chips and every type of gold bouillon.
Once a honor roll student of the craft now I’m giving demonstrations on the basics in the lab.
If you ain’t taking notes I’m assuming you up for grabs, and I’ll bust and leave your rap career in stasis on a Petrie glass.
Never been no play play, rarely catch me smiling in a picture.
I be working hard to turn these spiritual lines to scriptures.
Every one of my verses guaranteed to make you ponder like, How she wander into the game and make her nom de plume a music fixture?