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(feat. Matrix & A-Butta) |
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[Matrix & A-Butta talking] |
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Yeah, let me destroy the mic device |
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(Natural Elements) |
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Make my (uhh) electrical connection |
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(mic device gets destroyed, mic device gets destroyed |
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Let me destroy the mic device) |
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[Matrix] |
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Sometimes I wish I could stop the world from spinning and step out |
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Of it |
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Kick it off it's axis and stagger these rappers off balance |
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But instead I challenge, by pourin' advance skills by the gallons |
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I am, no one has a chance a-gainst this a-mazing |
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A-L-L action, also instead of babbling like gossiping bitches |
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Swallowing final wishes |
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Then hard-rock dreams, of crack cream from fiends |
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I verbally break-up emcees like disfunctional families |
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So get with this different mix, like seeds from interractial |
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Relationships |
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I draw crowds, at the same time, I erase kids |
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I discriminate like a racist a-gainst these basic |
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Lyricists that are cleaning out my wax, clogging my ears up with |
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Tasteless tunes, flavorless buffoons, that are talkative |
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Skills far from walkative, when it comes to battlin' |
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I don't give a fuck like a virgin practicin' sexual abstinence |
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Cuz in my eyes, your presence makes no appearance like absent |
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Students |
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Who went to join the uneducational rookies playin' hooky |
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With those perpetratin' niggas going bananas, influenced by cannabis |
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Your far from notorious, far from victorious, far from glamorous |
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Far from glorious, niggas waste time |
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Tellin fictious stories of what they pack on they waist-line |
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While I occupy minds, but leaving these rappers one up like hand-me- |
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Downs |
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I slam these clowns, permanently, and leave competition on the hush |
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Like a suburban library |
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I'm a perfect candidate, nominatin' for dominatin' these toy thugs |
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Packin' a ?fort? gun, and a clip full of fakes shootin' full of shit |
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Bullets |
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[Chorus] |
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Sometimes I wish I could stop the world from spinning and step out |
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Of it |
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Kick it off it's axis and stagger these rappers off balance |
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But instead I challenge, by pourin' advance skills by the gallons |
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Keep pourin', keep, keep pourin' |
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[x2] |
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[A-Butta] |
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Yo, I pray to God for all my enemies |
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I squeeze my vocal chords until my voice box lets out hypnotic |
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Melodies |
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And keep my eyes chinky like Vietnamese inhalin' trees |
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Believe in faith and wisdom, and stay away from Satanism |
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I abuse those who choose to use forms of plagiarism |
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Worship me like Paganism, don't decieve my brain with izm |
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A & Matrix got in on lock, so count your days in prison |
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I don't care what niggas say, this nigga A will live the day |
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The simple way, true lyrics, no need to let the trigger spray |
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Retaliate and strike back as like I was a ricochet |
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Matter of fact I just let my lyrics say who's A-Butta |
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While others try to figure ways to discover |
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How true brothas master facts |
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And how many heads my rap attracts |
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Counter-attack the raps like cataracts with eyesight |
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Get in the Zone deeper than Twilight when I grab the mic tight |
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What I write tonight will bring hip-hop back to it's origins |
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While mortal men, stay delicate like porcelain |
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Lyrics get sicker than the mind of Dr. Kevorkian |
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My thoughts are blendin' in, like camouflage war terrain |
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I torture your brain, scorchin' flames when I call ya name |
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Hip-hop is sure to change, and when it does I'm sure my name |
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Will probably run through your vein, I shine like polyurethane |
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What's contained inside my brain, I constantly put crews to shame |
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Then you wonder who's to blame, when you the main reason |
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That I hear ?jums? speakin', leave ya eardrums bleedin' |
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When I hear drum's beatin', the surface of my cerebrum |
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Penetrates like a parasite sounds to shatter lites (satelites) |
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(All day, all night) Lyrical syllables I sacrifice |
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On this mic device I get slicker than Andrew Dice |
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And switch ya style like hermaphrodites, from models to dykes |
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Why do rappers say they rappers when they all rap alike? |
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To me that's nonsense, that's why I drops sense when I grab the mic |
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And go through those rhymes like po-nine through traffic lights |
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My rap ignites insight which will paralyze spines |
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Tranquilize lines, lyricism gratifies mines |
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Some niggas laugh at my rhymes, but half of the time they ignorant |
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Insignificant fake hip-hop hipocrites, illiterate |
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Exquisite lyrics get deep to the touch |
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Get that crust out of your eyes, you been sleepin' too much |
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You killed my people enough, in this forbidden industry |
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Which to me is the epitome of what we call wickedry |
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And misery, me, myself & I blessin' trinity |
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Test me lyrically and end up, critically wounded |
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Bless tunes with scriptures that were written in cuneiform |
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My flow is legendary similar to myths of unicorn |
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Po-nine is really swine disguised in uniform |
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You been born into a world with no axis, A & Matrix with no practice, |
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Our flow tactics will put rappers below average |
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While I stay above the curve |
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Showdowns with pronouns, plus I make love to verbs |
