| Yo, who’s back? |
| It’s the Broseph Benja, oh shit
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| On my Slavic behalf, I’m puttin' bodies to motion
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| Better watch where your tread, better watch who you approachin'
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| 'Cause I’ll splatter your dreams, and leave your mentality broken
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| I don’t give a fuck, put that middle finger up
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| Put your hands in the air, 'cause my trigger finger sharp
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| My pen is my weapon, my wisdom my ammo, my shadow my camo
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| Like Van Gogh, I’ll get my props when I’m gone
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| I be pro on the mic, leave your mind molten
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| You might need some Ibuprofen, 'cause I be profane
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| Har me handin' out headaches with th standard that I’m upholdin'
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| An impressive pressure that’s too depressin' for you to cope with
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| Explosive, unholy with the flows that I’m blessed with
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| You can’t kill me off, I’ve already been resurrected
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| Heavily been neglected, steadily been perfectin'
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| The rebel from the rubble, I’m the beast from the Balkans
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| I’ve been doing this for ten plus years
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| Now I can only catch a buzz after ten plus beers
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| If somebody still wonders who the hell I is
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| I’ll explain it once again in all seriousness
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| It’s the M.O.J.O
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| Often described as a fucking animal, yeah
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| You’re now dealing with the devil in person
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| If you step to me you better have dental insurance
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| 'Cuz we on the next level beyond rap
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| I only listen to black metal and podcasts
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| We never left, this ain’t a comeback
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| Just another bomb track, I know the people want that
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| Combat boots with the big black suit
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| Bring bad news and I bitch slap you
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| Won’t settle for less, don’t forgive nor forget
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| I cut your motherfucking throat before I crucify your ass, bitch |