| We’re so sick with the flow, sing along like you caught
|
| A disease
|
| Manifest in the mirror, don’t sing lip shows, we go beyond
|
| Man it’s hard to believe, guess we’re blessed it’s a miracle
|
| So watch, it’s the Army Of Pharaos when you swallow your needs
|
| Go from flesh to the spiritual
|
| Gotta pray for a miracle like Moses when he parted the seas
|
| Yes, yes, it’s a miracle
|
| They call the stupid on the
|
| Stoop, I’m in the studio with Stoupe
|
| I’m unusually loose in a movie role with true
|
| Co-starring, don’t spar with no heart, it’s my level
|
| Those targets, slow harvest, bombarded by metal
|
| So garbage, so ghetto, so far but so settled
|
| Don’t harp but no father, slow peddle
|
| Rosetta made blooms
|
| We all got a history of violence on the record
|
| Except for this record, Baby Grande
|
| This lady take the stand and my record’s playing in the court like a reggae band
|
| Still a ladies man, Mag expensive
|
| I don’t get brain, I test dames' gag reflexes
|
| Ecstasy dealer, I bag their exes
|
| Stab em breathless without grabbing breakfast
|
| I might pull ahead or
|
| You’re lower than a flat when I’m reaching with a spare
|
| Yo, you could never fucking test the god
|
| The kickback of the Smith and Wesson hard
|
| I love to think that you a devil for ingesting lard
|
| That’s a part of every lesson that he sent the father
|
| Vinnie never claimed to be a prophet, I’m a vessel, god
|
| Me and my seven Mac 11's have a special bond
|
| Same bond when the Koran give me a special calm
|
| I wave the motherfucking ratchet like it’s Desert Storm
|
| And use it so I can detach you from your legs and arms
|
| I’m the one who’s reinventing the steel
|
| The one who took the art of rhyming, reinvented the wheel
|
| My venom will kill, my spit game like a neurotoxin
|
| They call me blood 'n guts warrior, Arturo boxing
|
| It’s nothing anything or anyone could do to stop em
|
| Matter of fact, even attempting it’s a foolish option
|
| Anyone who try to disrespect my crew, I’ll pop em
|
| And tell the rest of the puerto ricans bring the tools and em
|
| Bury them and the Aryans that carried them
|
| All stare, scared that humanitarians
|
| Spare none of them, tear their young from them
|
| Shun them, punt them into kingdom come’s conundrum
|
| Hunt them, punish them, confront them
|
| Drunken them, come undone thunking
|
| Summons him from the stomach of a sunless dungeon
|
| Bludgeon them, make the chump to become consumption
|
| Not an option to stop us, fairly obvious
|
| They’re innocuous, the despair of the populous
|
| Get your fill of I’ll-gotten goddesses
|
| Drill them with a modest amount of bottomless promises
|
| Turn the water scarlet red, let it turn from the faucet heads
|
| Get to little trails in the carpet threads
|
| Have em adamantly smack on the architect
|
| on the carnage, have my heart set |