Exhibit G

I been transformin’ sounds into something much higher
But I can’t put ‘em out like it was a brushfire
There ain’t no release date
I’m waitin’ for that leaked pre-release tape
To open doors like a bus driver
Cuz Grip oughta be number one, two, or three
On your list of young spitters
Whose flow could crush rhymers
I got motivation, that run up in the booth and do
Ten songs a day, that 2Pac motivation
I gotta make another stop, phone the station…

What made you think you could fool with
What only God can judge?
Grip is advanced with his music, it’s only obvious
After you watch me bust
Enough of these words to fill up a
Whole encyclopedia, almanac, or an omnibus
Which is to say I’m prolific and spit a lot of stuff
This is the way I transmit it, your shit is out of touch
And it’s a damn shame
We treat our pain like it was champagne
And try to keep both of ‘em bottled up
I’m Led Zep with the flow, get a whole lotta love

I even bring it to your face on occasion
So when I’m in the place, a rapper stays on vacation
I seen a few vacatin’ the stage on the way in
Straight jet when the Rec came in, I cain’t blame ‘em
Yeah, we super-scientifical
Technicians of sound like Dre and Bobby D-Digital
I used to give ‘em a rap, now I don’t git with the track
Until they write the check up, I need a physical
My rap is deep like it’s part of a secret ritual

Why you pursue me? I’m miles beyond your arm lengths
They tried to throw me out, I was already on base
I make a strong case
I’m years ahead of my time
That’s why my watch-face has
Always got the wrong dates
The right place, right moment, that’s what I call fate
From San Francisco to Broakland, my team is All-Bay
Removin’ rappers is my job, I had a long day
I’m tired of rhymin’ like, fuck it, just let the song play

They call me Grip Grand Inquisitor
Fuck that, they call me Grip Grand the Wizard or
Grip Grand the Visitor
Grip Grand a vision for the future with charisma
Whose superhuman moves are more
Confusin’ than the Riddler
I shine a signal in the sky like the Commissioner
My styles are all over your head like your conditioner
I wrote a lyric in a language no one understands
Somehow I held it together like rope and rubberbands
I changed my name to
Grip “I need a couple hundred” Grand
Off of just one advance, who said that talk is cheap?
So what if every rapper already git on this beat?
I built a time machine so I could travel back
To when they made it
And then say that I had already spit on this beat
And when the song’s complete they put it on the street like parking meters
So that all of y’all can see that I been on a streak
I won a lot of games
I’m like a phoenix comin’ out the flames
And then I leave ‘em screamin’ out my name…