| You gettin' split in fucking half by Ikon the Hologram’s wrath
|
| But I am the center inside the placenta of math
|
| You clash with cyanide gas and die fast
|
| Rhythmical equivalent of solids, liquids and gas
|
| We smash your science, with the power of Lord Titus
|
| But I am the virus inside of the iris of Cyrus
|
| Upon papyrus, I kill snipers and biting vipers
|
| And strangle you with the organs of rioters who try to fight us
|
| Call me your highness and sip the blood from the phoenix
|
| Who’s guilty like the Jews in the crucifixion of Jesus
|
| Murder the heathens and perish in a pit of cobras
|
| Word is bond, my rhymes form into a swarm of locusts
|
| Provoke us, and face the Zodiac killers
|
| Five Samurai, do or die, fire spitters
|
| Heavy hitters, from the lands of Sudan
|
| Killadelph, Shambhala, Ikon the Hologram
|
| What?!
|
| All religions fear Miguel
|
| My strikes are fatal, to your style
|
| That’s infantile like prenatal
|
| Your mic’s a child that’s getting fucked by a wild pedophile
|
| With bars pressed like guys spit violence, pectoral
|
| So suck my genitals you punk bitch, I’m the general
|
| Concocting verbs out of chemicals
|
| And leave you bloody like menstrual
|
| Cycles, my rap rifle blasts open any beat you throw
|
| Virtuoso flows like an ocean through an archipelago
|
| At a glance, yo, my battle stance rattles camps like an avalanche
|
| Crabs don’t have a chance, you sycophants
|
| Spend your cash advance grabbing a lance
|
| To try to joust with the conqueror
|
| Stompin the pawns that sponsor ya, onto the crucifix
|
| I chew ya crew to bits like Mucelix or computer chips
|
| Who can diss the pugilist?
|
| Rappers tried, and now they calcified up in formaldehyde
|
| Your valves canals divide
|
| I scalp hides, my names italicized to chastise
|
| Replicants in Nexus 6's excellence
|
| Present tense malevolence, devastating regiments
|
| Ever since, I supplied a diatribe of cyanide
|
| You revised whom you idolize
|
| I finalize death threats, you recollect the Esoteridactyl
|
| Court is now in session, motherfucker, drop the gavel
|
| Knowledge is self taught to be defining me spiritual
|
| Animal senile,
|
| Like oracles at Delphi when they’re spoken to
|
| Mortals refer to me as Hatshepsut
|
| For exposing the secrets of the sands while I’m blessing you
|
| My presence here is principle like Kemetic philosophies
|
| Of reparations and for payment of stolen legacy
|
| So hail, homie
|
| To Army of the Pharaoh
|
| Like Ma’at I seek truth through the tarot
|
| Choosing the teachings of 'Nezzar over that of the devil
|
| And trading places with Sankofa to hear my ancestors echo
|
| commanding thoughts that the facts
|
| That led me to the holy near the temple of Karnak |