|
(Intro) Chief Kamachi |
|
Yo, yo, let's go |
|
Yeah, uh, yeah, uh |
|
Killah Priest, Planet Asia |
|
Uh, Chief Kamachi, uh, yeah |
|
[Chief Kamachi] |
|
Ask God if you think I'm committing purgery |
|
I'm one wit the sun, all of his angels work wit me |
|
Rap supernatural |
|
Built from a different circuitry |
|
From Planet Asia, the answer certainly |
|
That's our twist, mystic and the street scene |
|
Levitate thru the hood, trying to make the mist clean |
|
Breathe! Inhale a toxic future |
|
Before you die from cancer |
|
I bet the cops will shoot you |
|
Niggas start revolution over 3 bags of dope |
|
Stomachs touch, starring at few bags of hope |
|
Trying to change life thru the few tabs I wrote |
|
When the crafts invoked, spiritual paths provoked |
|
Messiah music, all the ghetto choirs use it |
|
Buddhist Monks, plus Franciscan Friars choose it |
|
Thought the voice of the youth was gone? |
|
Turn up your radio; once again the truth is on |
|
Bloaw!!! |
|
(DJ Rhettmatic scratching) |
|
"You're now in tuned with the illest micro" |
|
"Hold, let it go, set it tho', sweat it" |
|
"Yeah" |
|
"So amazing, field left blazing" |
|
"Some pick up a microphone and can't even achieve this" |
|
"You phony rappers" |
|
"Yeah, time to go" |
|
"We brought the place of hump/hardball" |
|
"Like that" |
|
"A wack nigga rhyming kills a raw beat" |
|
[Killah Priest] |
|
I throw Angels in the hells, slap the devil as well |
|
Kill myself live on TV so my records could sell |
|
Lock my own self up in jail, swallow the key |
|
It's obviously; my role model is me (me) |
|
I stare at myself, I only care about myself |
|
Love ones around me...but I wear out my health |
|
I only spit rhymes for me to hear |
|
I believe I'm sincere |
|
Rappers beware, only me y'all shall fear |
|
I give myself dap, I love to hear myself rap |
|
Bars are so hot they start to melt the track |
|
Kamachi, Planet A, the canvas is our page |
|
My mind is a .9, the pen is a hand-grenade |
|
(DJ Rhettmatic scratching) |
|
[Planet Asia] |
|
Mosh pitting; I ain't the type to push |
|
Lighting the kush |
|
Bud knife to your face give you the NIKE swoosh |
|
Straight from the temple |
|
Anybody front on these High Priest is looking for a lifetime cripple |
|
Through the pipeline, I stay on the tight grind |
|
And fight crime, recite minds |
|
I write rhymes darker then nighttime |
|
Beat you in the head with a vine |
|
Gold scrolls I'ma roll over and behold |
|
But was told to the blind, we the best out |
|
And yo, check out my next style from NASA manufacture by reptiles |
|
Dig it, I strike with arrow, speak the language of Pharaohs |
|
Camaro smash but rocking military apparel |
|
Son of Cheryl, from a sperm cell outta this world |
|
As the Earth twirls I'm building till my knowledge is thorough |
|
They ask who can top it? The illest niggas you got three... |
|
Planet Asia, Killah Priest, Chief Kamachi |
|
(DJ Rhettmatic scratching) |