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I could talk bitches out of they jeans |
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Gold diggers out of they cream |
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Little wannabe rap muthafuckas out of they dreams |
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I'm slick, I could talk a hustler out of his fiends |
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I rap so hot, the water in my spit becomes steam |
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I'm like a pound of uncut coke when hittin' the scene |
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Y'all are powder particles that trickled off the triple beam |
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Stop trippin', little chicken, I ain't payin', I'm pimpin' |
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If ya waitin' for trickin' then you should date a magician |
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Wake up and listen, and keep this in the back of your mind |
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My thoughts are heavy, the weight alone could fracture your spine |
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Cats swear to God they high, hearin' Apathy's rhymes |
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And hold a torch up to trees like the back of a dime |
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These little backpack faggots probably jacked my lines |
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But like divorce with no prenup, half of it's mine |
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Y'all are just bitches (Esoterodactyl got morgues to fill) |
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While Ap's on a mission to make green like clorophyll |
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[Verse 2: Esoteric] |
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My team drops bread like chicks on health kicks |
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Ya squad could rock Bird throwbacks and couldn't "sell ticks" |
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I melt shit with the words I spit |
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Steven King, disturbed and sick |
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You know Shay's killin' rappers that be speakin' on their dealin' coke days |
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Only birds you ever flipped was due to road rage |
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Only gray you ever pushed was due to old age |
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Bomb grower? Nah dude, the only weed you ever moved was with lawn mowers |
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You ain't traffickin' shit |
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No package in the back of the whip |
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No gats, no clips, why you rockin' that watch still? |
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Only archeologists check for iced-out Fossils |
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Is this a vintage affair? Them Jordans isn't that rare |
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Plus they so dingy they resemble my original pair |
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Servin' AotP? That'd be a head trip |
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Like a Cali-bred Crip rockin' Cincinnatti Reds shit |
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(scratched) (x2) |
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Y'all tryin' to put a crease in the cards |
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Everybody want a piece of the gods |
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[Verse 3: Planetary] |
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I spit spontaneously, insane on a beat |
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Gigantic with the rap, I throw a flame in the street |
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Nothin' less than a professor manifestin' the heat |
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So hot, I don't even bring a piece when I beef |
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Rappers shot, make your casket drop |
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Pass the block, and get your ass beat down, we laugh and watch |
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And it's funny how we throw a rubber band on a knot |
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Smack you in the face with it and let you have it to shop |
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And the reason that you bleedin', you disrespected a demon |
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Cryin' like little bitches or newborns that's teething |
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We urban gorillas workin' with killers |
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Bow and arrows from the Pharaohs, dog you heard what the deal is |
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We the realest and you feel us 'cause you probably been through it |
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Suicidal rap, nigga, cut your skin to it |
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And shit don't matter if you die or live through it |
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We beat you 'till you piss bluish, hit you with sick fluid |
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[Verse 4: Des Devious] |
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I never aim to please, get cut quick, gone with the breeze |
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And post up, sparkin' my trees |
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Like it never happened, the captain of fly rappin' |
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Attackin' with war tactics and write it down in fine graphics |
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Cause havoc, my "mobb's deep," gun butt, you now sleep |
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Your funeral be in a week, I dare you to creep |
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Pack ridiculous heat from sweepin' the streets |
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The tech nine to your meat, chopper bringin' defeat |
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To any one who oppose these assholes' murderous flows |
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I'm standin' here close from breakin' your nose |
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The life that you chose is nothin', why keep runnin'? |
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Shoot, I'm gunnin', my muthafuckin' cold deeds is headhuntin' |
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Frontin' is a waste of time, you get money and shine |
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On your grind, it's all in your mind |
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'Cause I've never seen you holdin' a spot, callin' a shot |
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Pops scorchin' your flesh, you bleedin' to death |
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Heed these words or meet this bird, Desert |
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Bangin' at your heartless herbs, heartless herbs, nigga |
