Earlier this month, eLZhi launched a Kickstarter campaign in support of his forthcoming album. With five days left on the clock, the $25,000 goal has already been met but plenty of packages are still available.
We spoke with the Detroit emcee about the campaign, the album, Dilla and his love for Quentin Tarantino earlier this week. And it’s the main reason this post was birthed. After we put the interview up I began rummaging through my old hard drives and came across Europass, an exclusive tour pressing that was released in 2008. Included on the impressive 13-track display of raw talent was the Black Milk-produced “Motown 25″ featuring Royce Da 5’9”.
Available for your listening pleasure below, “Motown 25” was also featured on eLZhi’s debut solo album The Preface, which dropped the same year.
eLZhi
I end careers, years, pierce ears fierce with spears
They say I’m gifted, get lifted like the beers in Cheers
Catch a thunder bolt, pockets stay lump from hundred notes
Stunning quotes make you run your coat while the sun’s afloat
Prehaps, my skill is real as G Rap’s
It feel as ill as concealing drills in the knee caps
Your funny style get three snaps in the circle when off
The purple and greens, I’m higher than the jeans on Erkel, then I murk you
Bust tecs, the lead sparking now who be my next head target
I lift up, roll out, like the red carpet
Say my name three times in the mirror and if I hear you
I’ll appear clearer, extend both arms and pull you nearer
Pound for pound, I’m pretty live on the mic
And keep it flooded like Mike, on Motown 25
Put your soul on ice and sold it for a whole known price
I’m nice, keep a knot swole on dice
Grin is sarcastic, the way my pen’ll spark acid on the bar
Whether in the crib or the car, blast it
Son is a, prob rob funds from your publisher
While his dogs put his guns to you like the Punisher
Or the Terminator, flow is harder
Than a German major midterm paper, the kid burns the saber
Striking cats, how you want it, gats, spike or bats
I know you liking that, I stay sharper than Viking hats
Exhale, blowed mist, served you with a cold dish
Niggas vomiting, bowels moving, they can’t hold piss
El and Royce, double team, hotter than a cup of steam
Club your spleen and bury you, just as deep as a submarine
Flawless, should be that very reason you applaud us
You saw us laying down a law just as raw as a crawfish
You met your death and although, I took away your breath
And I ran, I still left with a Grand like Theft Auto
Royce Da 5’9″
You little niggas can’t touch me, baby
Okay, maybe Jay Z or maybe not
Pardon if I sound lazy, I’ve been puffing crazy
Writing Puff’s shit, so mothafucka fuck you, pay me
Or lay down in your feces, my guns talk, I’m speechless
My Pen’s that Teller, I bends that fella, now peep this
I eat you and then wash you down with who you eat with
Me and Elzhi, yeah, we split
He’s sick, I’m sick, I’m sick of how sick
He is, he’s sick of how sick me, is me, baby me
Sickest in the D, since the Shady LP
I can fuck, that’s what ladies tell me
’83 I was fucking, I was six, head in my momma’s daycare
Yeah, that was nothing, I’m the shit
Back into my rhyme again, niggas call me arrogant
That’s because I’m confident, I found it when I found a pen
Three deals later, three meals later, tryna win
About to be signed again, that’s right I’m bout to clown again
Knock-knock, who is that? It’s the cat that’ll snap
Throw cheese in the trap, on you homie, you a rat
Ha-ha-ha, I’m back, matter of fact I’ve never left
Those who say they ain’t expect it, can’t accept it
Haters left this, boy no choice but to blow
Fuck another ho from on another pole, fuck a show
Fuck a flow, I’m about getting money fast
While you rapping or perhaps you hustling sucka slow
Ice glow, sticky green, bush on sicky team
Capone, put powerful “White Boy Ricky” cream
Get him straight if he leans, fifty fiends in a line
Nickel Nine, been around, niggas you would kneel around
From Milan to Iran, I’m a don
Now when I’m around niggas calming down eating like it’s Ramadan
As an added bonus, I’ve also included “Deadly Medley” of Black Milk’s Album Of The Year. Same line-up as “Motown 25” only Black Milk kicks things off with a verse of his own.
