| Soldier’s logic, capture the essence and hold it hostage
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| Like passengers controlling cockpits with loaded Glock clips
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| Won’t stop 'til pigs fly, solar comets
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| Chased by exploding rockets through hell while it’s frozen solid
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| See, Nostradamus predicted the approach of 'Bolic
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| With a weapon arm like Megatron’s shoulder socket
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| Cause I’m the future, hold court and prosecute ya
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| 'Til I cock the Ruger and you’re fucking history like Kama Sutra
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| I’m worshiped like God or Buddha, or the tribe of Judah
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| Cause my Medulla oblongata got a cocked bazooka
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| And I’ll just shoot ya, while vagabonds tag along
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| Who are trained to operate on soldiers like Trapper John
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| Who wanna bet I’m sick as seven plagues of Babylon?
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| Let’s shake on it, I’ll slap your palm so hard I’ll snap your arm
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| The battle’s on and you’ll realize God is vengeful
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| With the odds against you like suicide bombing Muhammad’s temple
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| I’m monumental, so I’ma go from non-essential
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| To a memory mentioned next to «Can it Be All So Simple?»
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| But can’t afford to sell, momma never wore Chanel
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| I was born during a five alarm firestorm in hell
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| And I swore to tell the story, how we fell from glory
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| So throw Hades in reverse — back the hell up off me!
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| You don’t have the balls to deal with a Neanderthal
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| Catapulting dead bodies over the king’s castle walls
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| This what happens when you mix a lot of beer with a lot more weed,
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| multiplied by 15 bar fights. |
| This Diabolic, nigga! |
| This Rebel Arms, muthafucka!
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| Stomp the shit out you! |
| Fuck everything you stand for!
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| I’ll never taste my pride, I’ll never change, never saying die
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| Like a native tribe that’s fighting smallpox they provide
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| Fuck the game, I’ll take it by storm and break inside
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| And maybe I’d flood the streets with crack like it’s '85
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| Rainy skies and clouds will form, then crowds will swarm
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| To hear my album songs, kneel down and bow before 'em
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| Sound the horns, I arrived in a crown of thorns
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| To powerbomb blocks when I drop like Bausch & Lomb
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| Now it’s on, took a breath of air, said a prayer
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| Threw you down a flight of heaven’s stairs into the devil’s lair
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| And I continue this genocide with Engineer
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| 'til they light up our electric chairs like fluorescent flares
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| Never cared if what goes around comes back around
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| The track is down like K-9 units with basset hounds
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| These are battlegrounds, I watch them unfold
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| And see them turn men to animals like Dr. Moreau
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| So I run into the lion’s den with a squad of iron men
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| Spitting like there’s viral stem cells in my sinus phlegm
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| I’ll die and rise again, then make water wine
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| Cuz I ride driving bent, and drink all the time
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| Don’t wanna sign to a label I’ll never need
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| I’m a genetic breed doing more legwork than centipedes
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| Best believe I’d bleed to set us free
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| And I’m blessed to be real, that’s why there’s soldiers here next to me
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| Yeah! |
| We bang out 'til your muthafuckin medulla oblongata hang out, man!
|
| This Diabolic! |
| He’s a liar! |
| He’s a thief! |
| He’s a goon! |
| He’s a muthafuckin
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| criminal! |
| He’s a degenerate louse! |
| He’s a drunk! |
| Hahahaha! |
| And that’s my
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| muthafuckin dude! |
| I’m Poison Pen! |
| Money Shot, P! |
| Wipe it off your chin and
|
| gargle it down, muthafucka! |
| Rebel Arms all day! |
| Yo, you ever got centipeded
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| before? |
| That’s getting stomped by fifty dudes! |
| That’s a hundred feet!
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| That’s what Rebel Arms is, we centipedes, nigga! |
| Yo, I been waiting for this
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| album a long time man, you know what I’m saying? |
| So yo check this out,
|
| I’mma sit the fuck back. |
| I got a leader right here right next to me in the lab.
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| Yo Southpaw, crack them muthafuckin bottles, man! |
| Fuck y’all niggas |