| So it’s war that they dabble with,
|
| Act like a man’s flesh,
|
| Is comparable to mannequins,
|
| Captured on the front line,
|
| Savage, start having it,
|
| Cameras might catch a glimpse,
|
| Best hope it has a glitch,
|
| Captured on the hard drive,
|
| Stack it up as evidence,
|
| That’s why life’s a bitch,
|
| Big Brother’s tracking it,
|
| Cap down, hood up,
|
| It’s simple how to tackle it,
|
| Bring madness or just handle it,
|
| It’s up for you to choose,
|
| Make your move then just stand by it,
|
| Don’t try abandon ship,
|
| Fucking sink with it,
|
| One hand raised to the sky like you’re done with it,
|
| One minute, fame’s done, now you’re lost in it,
|
| One foot stuck in the grave while the other kicks dust
|
| In your face as you duck for the exit,
|
| In the maze, but there’s no given,
|
| Mother Nature’s unforgiving,
|
| Suffocate your lungs or living,
|
| Dying from the inside out,
|
| It’s how we’re all existing,
|
| Forced into the system,
|
| I pray days change and wage war as an instinct.
|
| That’s how it is, how it is
|
| That’s how it is, how it is
|
| Yo! |
| It’s war, war, straight to your door,
|
| Who’s outside with the bally and the sword?
|
| I think it’s someone they summoned,
|
| But I ain’t sure,
|
| 'Cos I goddamn lost my mind running from the law.
|
| Yo! |
| It’s war, war, straight to your door,
|
| Who’s outside with the bally and the sword?
|
| I think it’s someone they summoned,
|
| But I ain’t sure,
|
| 'Cos I goddamn lost my mind running from the law.
|
| As night falls I’m reminiscing,
|
| Up/I? |
| ten in wisdom,
|
| While your fam. |
| are brainwashed by the television,
|
| Revel in the inhibition,
|
| I’m a rebel in the element of terrorism,
|
| Still here selling visions,
|
| Read my books if you never care to listen,
|
| Prepare yourself for the sentence,
|
| Best written in blood,
|
| Far from fake like the sight of a silicone bust,
|
| I fire flames out my mouth,
|
| See the lyrics combust,
|
| I’m far from innocent,
|
| I’m militant,
|
| Living corrupt,
|
| Like the sickness that is?,
|
| 'Cos the figure is stock,
|
| I felt the pain as the glass shards cripple my lungs,
|
| I spray my life out in fumes,
|
| By the bittersweet sun,
|
| Heart beating to the pulse like the skin of a drunk (?),
|
| Not the type to sell my soul for no six-figure sums,
|
| Still sit wishing sunrays will come around,
|
| Some days I’d rather stay unpaid,
|
| And live my life mundane,
|
| And wait once a week to an unhappy Monday.
|
| Fuck that! |
| It ain’t ever going to happen! |
| I’d rather die rapping.
|
| Yo! |
| It’s war, war, straight to your door,
|
| Who’s outside with the bally and the sword?
|
| I think it’s someone they summoned,
|
| But I ain’t sure,
|
| 'Cos I goddamn lost my mind running from the law.
|
| Yo! |
| It’s war, war, straight to your door,
|
| Who’s outside with the bally and the sword?
|
| I think it’s someone they summoned,
|
| But I ain’t sure,
|
| 'Cos I goddamn lost my mind running from the law.
|
| Yo! |
| It’s war, war, straight to your door,
|
| Who’s outside with the bally and the sword?
|
| I think it’s someone they summoned,
|
| But I ain’t sure,
|
| 'Cos I goddamn lost my mind running from the law.
|
| That’s how it is, how it is,
|
| Running from the law.
|
| And I’m still running.
|
| I ain’t ever gonna stop running bruv.
|
| Yes! |
| Middle finger up!
|
| Fuck the feds. |
| One.
|
| Fliptrix, Mr. Boss.
|
| Done. |