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Yeah, you know my crew is thick |
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Makin chicks go buckwild and act a lunatic |
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I'm not a fugitive, hit me on my voodoo bip |
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On the Hiero bus, smokin out the hookah wit |
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Hydro bazooka shit, blowin out your mucus membrane |
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Yeah, you can spit game, but who can explain |
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How your woman in Spain with Miguel? |
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Well his real life don't match the stories he tell |
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Pedallin propaganda, wearer of the handcuffs |
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In a plastic cell, look straight for the camera |
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From Atlanta to Havana, they broadcastin "Channel Zero" |
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I'm in your ear though, sort of like a black antenna |
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I throw my hand up, body electric |
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Receive God's blessings how I stay protected |
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[cut and scratched] |
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[Professor X] "This is protected!" |
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[Opio] |
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Nowadays young boys have to handle the fifth |
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Like John Hannibal Smith, put the ammo in the clip |
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Catch you in a alleyway, blam you in the rear |
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Run up in your crib, go gorilla on your family |
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And it ain't about a rap song, they do it for the cash homes.. |
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.. what comes around goes around |
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You might catch one if you own this town |
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And that's well known so hold it down |
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When you try to blame hip-hop, for who gets shot |
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I point my finger at the President, it's his fault |
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No amount of Harvard slick talk can pick apart that one |
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Delinquents on the ave know what's happenin (uh) |
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I throw my hand up, body electric |
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Receive God's blessings how I stay protected, protected, protected |
|
[cut and scratched] |
|
[Professor X] "This is protected!" |
|
[Opio] |
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Resistin as a seminal for centuries and evermore |
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Spit it in a metaphor, get it at your record store |
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Let's make it crystal clear, listen here |
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Blood spilled on the battlefield or shed in a tear |
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Recharge, reshape, then reappear |
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Then reformulate before we commandeer |
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It's the renaissance, from Port-au-Prince, to in the Bronx |
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And back to Oakland, the wheels in motion |
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We coastin - thunderfoot like a Clydesdale |
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Rumble, young man rumble, I'll put your lights out |
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Opio be groovin like Manchito and the Afro Cubans |
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And that's cool then, T. Mass power movin |
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I throw my hand up, body electric |
|
Receive God's blessings how I stay protected, protected, protected |
|
[cut and scratched] |
|
[Professor X] "This is protected!" |
|
[Opio] |
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I expand like the verbal supercluster, so who could muster |
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The force of impact, from my point of attack |
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Live third rail on the subway track |
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I'm in the tunnel like the Moleman, with mo' plans, to go back |
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To flows that expose "Acknickulous" skill |
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Not mass appeal, or abs of steel |
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Or apple bottom like the ass on Beverly Peel |
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I appreciate celebrity status it's all real |
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But it's mo' about the cats in the lab and with no deal |
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Who keep the fully-auto verses single-action ideal |
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Yeah Hiero oh they straight, culture merchants we kill |
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So throw your hands in the air, let the truth be revealed |
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Yeah, body electric, protected, protected |
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[cut and scratched] |
|
[Professor X] "This is protected!" |
