| We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceiling | |
| And this axe that we're wielding | |
| Will react when we're feeling that | |
| Crack, attack, attack, and we're on on you like like a Mack Truck | |
| Your honor, we are that fucking filthy | |
| [Sims] | |
| It's 2000 and self destruct and everybody's yelling that shit is all fucked | |
| Yuck, I never liked the construct of that square wheel, like "money ain't real" | |
| Wait, but that ain't real. Oh, now I get it | |
| We could take it all and split it, give it to the village | |
| Doomtree villains out for the killing, no kidding | |
| Good man but I went a bit bitter when they took a little bit of the dinner off my plate | |
| High stakes, okay, Ill play, but it ain't your game | |
| And it ain't your rules and it ain't your world, and I brought my crew | |
| We some dirty lip fuck your rules living ugly goons | |
| It's no kings, no way, You're so vain, you probably think it's about you | |
| Well it is and it ain't, and it ain't but it is | |
| I go so fucking nasty no restraint | |
| Well I get props and I play it off, I see them hot and I fade them all | |
| Hello world it's L.O.P. B.T.Z., keep your ring | |
| Move out of my way, let me do my thing | |
| Let me do my thing, I'mma do my thing | |
| [Mike] | |
| Friction lock rivet | |
| Goonish as all fuck, prudent to all stunts | |
| Proving the laws of logarithm like the wag of a dog's tail | |
| Bark back, woof! Light the rag on your cocktail | |
| SPart that, champ on that slang chop | |
| Chump on that chomp rap, probably a stomp sack | |
| Man, give me my prop back | |
| Hold your tooth to my non dap, I ain't no Diddy boy | |
| That Beni know we go scrimp dance | |
| Dougie, don't stop that! | |
| Senor Frreal Z three R zero | |
| None other, who's cooler, hula-hooping through bank zeroes | |
| Hewlett packing, loogie yacking on Don Hero's | |
| Bomb appearance, nights in Paris, raw dogging cross limos | |
| Toss demos, snot rockets blow up the sub-labels | |
| Long tables, calling shots on a crowd potato | |
| The slang mongrel with fanged tonsils | |
| We slay goblins gangly gang violent | |
| Wrangling fake monsters | |
| [POS] | |
| What's up? No kings, No love for your made up things | |
| In the paint but it ain't no game on the wall with a little complaint | |
| Leave that stain, weave through cities dodging rain | |
| No thing but an open door, it's yours | |
| No lie but you've got to get dirty man fix your pride | |
| We some preach them real, reach them, steal them from low ideals type dudes | |
| With a stepped up set of skills and an ick style so kill that wills update daily | |
| No frills or pilled up babies | |
| No posture phony just rock solid un-fuck-with-able dropped knowledge | |
| No love for the bull horns give them | |
| Throns get them in, swarm, let me make friends with a storm | |
| Buddy get up close to the war | |
| Insides out, no love for the boring | |
| Naw, bored, and I bet the hearts off beating | |
| Under hardwood flooring, poor man's Poe |
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