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Yeah...Once again |
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It's like this... |
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AotP, we runnin' this rap shit now |
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Celph Titled, we runnin' this rap shit now |
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ES, we runnin' this rap shit now |
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Warchild, niggas runnin' this rap shit now |
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[Verse 1: Celph Titled] |
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It's about to be a motherfuckin' slaughter in this bitch |
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We got the awfullest clips, rusty burners with the rotten rubber grips |
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We some hardcore crooks, drinkin' rubbing alcohol |
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Never use a rubber at all, we fuckin' bitches raw |
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Chokin' up your faculty, turn your whole "gang green" |
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Unload the magazine to your knees, give you a gangsta lean |
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Military minded, on the A-Train with a deranged brain |
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I was buildin' the walls of hell way before the flames came |
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And bitches love me with a MAC-11 |
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Tellin' the police sketch artist I look like Jon B. with a deadly weapon |
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Keepin' it ghetto even when it's war, ock |
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Rockin' jean shorts and a tanktop, loadin' shells in the tank top |
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Aimin' the cannon to blast you where you standin' |
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You could be in Montana campin', but your head'll land in the Hamptons |
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Won't grin for the camera when you clickin' it at me |
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But I'll smile with a gun in my hand, I'm trigger happy |
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[Chorus: Crypt the Warchild + Vinnie Paz] (x2) |
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Listen up, it's murder music 'till your wrist is cut |
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Fire octane, nigga y'all can sip it up |
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We do this rap shit here so we can live it up |
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We walk around with hot flames runnin', give it up |
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[Verse 2: Esoteric] |
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You could never fathom the level beyond your God or your Devil |
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If every thought is a pebble (my style's boulder, I told you) |
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A radical rebel and yes the jacket's full-metal |
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And men I'm hackin' through several (I'm like a soldier, I'll fold you) |
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A blow to your composure, heat of the moment |
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I be meat-cleavin' a bleedin' opponent, he didn't want it |
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These heathens try to eat off me but they repeatedly clone it |
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This industry is mine, I can put my feet way up on it |
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I put my people up on it, my sinister and lethal ministry of evil |
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Turn a Vinnie Diesel to a skinny weasel |
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I'm the pinnacle and steeple of this faction, feeble men I'm smashin' |
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Playin' God? you ain't Jim Caviezel with The Passion |
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Automatic how I'm causin' havoc, I body maggots |
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Who thought they brought the static, they probably addicts |
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And fiendin' for a bag of this antagonistic savageness |
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You talkin' platinum but ain't crackin' pitchers' batting averages |
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(Chorus) |
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[Verse 3: Crypt the Warchild] |
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Don't make me get your fuckin' face broken |
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I ain't jokin' when I'm flamethrowin' |
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I'll spit a verse at you to slit your fuckin' veins open |
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I'll spit a curse or two just to keep the rain pourin' |
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I'll lift the skirt of you to see you pussies ain't workin' |
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I'll live to murder you until I see the game's over |
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We never heard of you and 'cause of that, the name's worshipped |
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(It's the Army, cocksuckas) Get it correct |
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Or y'all can find sharp things straight embedded in necks |
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I rep my team to the death, I will slice your people |
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Wave my flags in the air, plus the knives are lethal |
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Hottest shit to hit the streets since Nas did Ether |
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Now we pick at your soul and let your conscience eat ya |
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And take over, Crypt, Es, and Celph |
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You reap what you sow, so protect ya health, NIGGA |
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[Vinnie Paz] |
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Yeah muthafuckas! That's how we get fuckin' down |
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AotP, Vinnie P., Crypt the Warchild, Celph Titled |
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Esoteric, Chief Kamach', Planetary, Apathy |
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(Chorus) |
