|
(Intro by Celph Titled) |
|
It's the collapse of the earth as you know it. Holdin' it down, Celph Titled |
|
in the same brigade with the universal Walkmen. Start the countdown... |
|
"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 murder 1 lyric at your door" --> Method Man |
|
*repeat 4X |
|
(Celph Titled) |
|
Recommendation, hold somethin' heavy, prepare for combat |
|
Translation: Atomik niggas constantly stay blazin' |
|
Every syllable spit is accurate, holdin' down the immaculate position |
|
I call the shots, perform executive incisions |
|
Speak to my own outside of language barriers for my brethren |
|
The veteran who caught a piece of shrapnel from the Tower of Babel |
|
Praise God, respect is due, while I'm infectin' you |
|
Never spit rhymes in a cipher, I siphon blood from ya veins |
|
With the straw the broke the camel's back, disrespect? |
|
Never that, off the map, chrome nine design specialist |
|
Leave deceased niggas with walkmans in their coffin blastin' my shit |
|
Infinite longevity, reconstruct my structure with dyslexic lepersey |
|
Malevolant ministries revealin' false prophecies, retrieved my past life |
|
They called me Yahweh, slit the throat of Leviathan, slain sideways |
|
Now I just made you a star, enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame |
|
No room for garbage fake five-percent MCs in this real terrain |
|
Drop your album on TDK, listen closely what our CD say |
|
You couldn't put out one record if it was your life you had to pay |
|
I'm feelin' this joint, I hope you niggas is to |
|
Beef with one man in my crew therefore we strike back with the 7-S platoon |
|
(Uh-huh...) |
|
Chorus: |
|
"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 murder 1 lyric at your door" --> Method Man |
|
*repeat 4X |
|
(Tino Vega) |
|
The Spanish Prince, my mind's convinced, dent all intelligence |
|
Those who breathe, freeze at the sight of elegance |
|
Cause static jolts similar to lightning bolts |
|
Slash clans of devilish cults, catch boostive energy (energize!) |
|
Deadly antidotes inflict a fatal remedy |
|
Walkmen triangulate to form a spiritual entity (are you feelin' me?) |
|
Nigga, my rugged data will cause your mind structure to shatter |
|
Memory banks has been erased, Celph, Storm and the Soldier |
|
All up in ya face, leavin' glowing footmarks throughout the underground |
|
No room for feeble minds and shook hearts |
|
Start the countdown, soldiers in the killing fields |
|
I hold up my shield to block immortal curses |
|
Spittin' verses, peep my verbal slang analogy |
|
To a dragon spittin' flames, while the others are being bothered |
|
By hungry pitbulls that drool when they look at you |
|
The 7th Squadron droppin' toxins in the place of oxygen, what! |
|
Chorus: |
|
"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 murder 1 lyric at your door" --> Method Man |
|
*repeat 4X |
|
(Storm Trupa) |
|
Nova watchin' over your shoulder, roamin' through an open folder |
|
Slippin' through a paradox, mental coma |
|
Eternal Nightol, impact from a rhymin' wreckin' ball |
|
One on one street compete, complete |
|
Composition, physique physician, fight with might |
|
Strike precise with my device |
|
I ignite my vocal tenacity, define mankind |
|
Flux capacitate linear time, enigma, snake slither |
|
Extension across the Nile River, bless myself |
|
The Ark Angel - my fingers make contemporary poetry |
|
Historical, biographical oracle |
|
Open memories like new vicinities |
|
Fuck those who oppose me, I throw heat ferociously |
|
Cleverly expose the life that you live to the Walkmen |
|
Nomadic men, commit mad sin |
|
In the Vatican upon the day of Armageddon |
|
Tai Chi master, absorbin' the powers from the Seven |
|
Tectonic tremblin' witnessin' the wrath that you're facin' |
|
Atomik devastation - strategically |
|
Organize elevation, the dynasy, mathematically |
|
Strong minds combine to redesign the fabric of time |
|
On some enormous shit, now watch the clock tick |
|
* the sound of an old clock ticking * |
