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[Featuring: Slaine, Singapore Kane, Lord Lhus] |
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[Intro:] |
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God I think the world is about to collapse! C'mon! |
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The buildings and walls are are falling |
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If you don't know, you should by now |
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It's the mother****ing Snowgoons in the building |
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And you're rocking with Singapore Kane and Slaine |
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It's 2008, dummy |
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[Verse 1: Slaine] |
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All eyes are staring at me, people watching the villain |
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They see my rising with the rebels to the top of the building |
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Being stuck down at the bottom is the vilest feeling |
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Desolate soul for vodka that's swilling, popping the pilling |
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Jealously swirling in their eyes, they're plotting to kill em |
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But I been there and believe me, I ain't forgotten the feeling |
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I lived the dark nights and heard the pain crash from the ceiling |
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I mean the raindrops hang in 'caine spots with dealers |
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Now fighting a different war, smoking less, sniffing more |
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Every week a different chore, every month a different tour |
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I got a gang of haters everyday I piss em off a little more |
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Whatchu think I got a ****ing pistol for? |
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Jealousy's a disease that affect my enemies |
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They're scheming while they're sipping on the Hennessy |
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Me, I'm overseas making G's like I stick banks |
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Rocking mics, sniffing foreign coke out of Swiss francs |
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[Chorus: x2] |
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We bring the devastation, never a moment of hesitation |
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When we smash your face and leave your blood pasted upon the pavement |
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The sons of Satan, keeping it rugged, **** the debating |
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Whatchu talking about? You weak, our fury is full of hatred |
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[Verse 2:] |
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It's no benefits trying to test me and my affiliates |
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Soon as you consider it we smack dudes illiterate |
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Sidestep the petty shit, forever it's a militant's mission |
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To get the cheese and stretch it like mozzarella sticks |
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Test me, I'm ready, my girl got my machete |
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And she's ready to cut your throat like Chequeta in Belly |
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You as hard as a rock, now you sweeter than jelly |
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No one believes the shit that you spit on the telly |
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Despite how you live your looks I'll never play by the books |
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The silent kid in the room is really the biggest crook |
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Pulling out the biggest jux you'll ever [? ] nook |
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Fight to the death with guns and knives and left hooks |
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Dudes talk the talk but they don't walk any similar |
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We'll separate your soul from your body like oil and vinegar |
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High off the sticky, insane when I'm sober |
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Spit poison in my verse like killer cobra |
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[Verse 3:] |
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The style raw, kick it rugged like it's sting'll crack your face |
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It's the mind place ditched me in hell what I create |
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It's the rhyme squad, some of mine is gone with the wind |
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I'm better than half you rappers who faking it like pretend |
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To the end I'm a murder this, MC's keep on observing this |
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I hear you bite my shit and they're gonna find you where the murder was |
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I kick it I'll sick twisted acapella when I rock a fella |
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Rolling with dime bitches and cocking? |
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My rhyme is torture, slowly pulling out your guts |
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While your whole body soaked in alcohol and paper cuts |
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Then the knife slides into your right thigh |
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You think you might die, you right, you see the visions of your life fly |
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Right past you, my clique'll really bash you |
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Into your skull then suck your brains out like a vacuum |
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My backroom is filled with goons and street thugs |
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Killers hate love, sweeten your [? ] and pull? |
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[Chorus x2] |
