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(Verse 1: Apathy) |
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There's a whole lot of rappers |
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That claim they so street |
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But all sound the same like reggaeton beats |
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I'll swing on your jaw |
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And leave your dome piece broken |
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And spin your face quicker than a sidekick open |
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If my label doesn't get my album off of the ground |
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I'm going to rally my fans and burn your offices down |
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Radio for back up, another officer down |
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Connecticut's king, that gets back to polish my crown |
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I'm from the era when the mixtapes were standard cassettes |
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Lamped in a Lex with Nike airs and Champion sweats |
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Now a days we them psychos higher with the right flows |
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Kill ghostwriters and give your wigi board typos |
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(Verse 2: Tak) |
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Say yes, say when, we don't pack pads and pens |
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Act bad, get the crap slapped out of your friends |
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I turn rap to crack rock and sell it at base price |
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If only you could fit bass pipes in a laptop |
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It's not a problem, I take it back to the blacktop |
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The Demigod, King Kong, killer Godzilla |
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Raw spit spiller, cap peeler don with the gat cocked |
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Style of Beyond and on and on |
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Yeah we chill with Jay-Z but I call him Shawn |
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It ain't nothing, I crush him until they chest is flat |
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So clap for the rap fucking phenomenon |
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(Make 'em clap to this) |
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(Verse 3: Motive) |
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Yo, I'm here now |
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So don't worry where I came from |
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If you trying to find this nigga weakness |
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It ain't none |
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See I could spit some shit |
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That can leave your brain numb |
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My aim is to bring the game back |
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To what it changed from |
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Niggas is fake though |
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Garbage and I see through it |
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Hate mo is marketing yayo like G-Unit |
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The Godz a squad and yes, we rap cousin |
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And now we back like we mother fucking left something |
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And I ain't with none of that backpack rap shit |
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But I do keep a mac in my bag if you act slick |
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And when it get pulled, it disperse with a clip full |
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With a bite that's worse than a pit bull |
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(Verse 4: Ryu) |
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We close to the top, if not, it ain't far |
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My choice, it must be the voice, the next Gang Starr |
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So taste the brand of amphetamines for your whole squad |
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You sniffing this, you'll swear to God |
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You saw me landing a spaceship |
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Robotic hands with legs and animal faces |
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Chopping the grains of sand to side of bacon |
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An exact spiting image of animal Satan |
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Carrying Los Angeles on his back for ages |
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Whoa, crush the razors, sip the wine |
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The Demigodz invasion cripple your mind |
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I'm a tell 'em again, ripped cat, dude from S.O. |
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Stand up for the jam, heat clap, now let's go |
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(Verse 5: Celph Titled) |
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Reporting live from the planet of the disturbed |
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You'll think we smoke a massive amount of weed |
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Cause of the way we hit herbs |
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Now which word got you offended |
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I give a fuck and since an infant, I've been a misfit |
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You see the way the kid spit |
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I've got Raven Symone craving my bone |
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Cat fighting with Hillary Duff putting artillery up |
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(And they don't know) |
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The Demigodz a force to be reckoned with |
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(So play your part) |
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Or get a tek to your neck and shit |
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Yes, I'm with a naked bitch all night |
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All night with a blow job, she careful around my waist |
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Because a gun might go off |
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Hip hop to you is probably Color Me Bad |
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But it's a fact I've been down |
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Since Michael Jackson was black |
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(Verse 6: Esoteric) |
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E.S. like a slasher flick, master sick, |
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Waste to leave cats hacked to bits |
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At the same time relax with the Maxium chicks |
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Snatching flicks because you know I won't remember that shit |
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Pass the fifth, Demigodz a squad, we're ruthless |
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You're useless like blind men with pool sticks |
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Exclusive Nike's ain't exclusive |
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When they're found on the feet of every doofus |
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Your man's a goner, that thug persona |
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Makes me laugh like Jon Voight in Anaconda |
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The pterodactyl is back, I'm landing on ya |
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86 Rocket, Ralph Sampson on ya |
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Larry Legend leaving the gym at 2 a.m. |
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Carrying weapons |
