| Who in the world want war
|
| With this thorough Philly boar
|
| Underground like the earth’s core
|
| I took the elevator up to the first floor
|
| What in life do you search for?
|
| What have you been put on this earth for?
|
| How much of America’s money are we getting paid to work for?
|
| Corporate conglomerate, ?? |
| link becoming dominant
|
| I’m an MC you don’t wanna have a problem with
|
| I speak spuriously, sign and shine gloriously
|
| Spitting vomit that’s thicker than mucous
|
| Paint oil pictures of the future clearer than George Lucas
|
| To the day that we all become human computers
|
| And freedom of speech will be obsolete cause we be muted
|
| Yo, I eats, sleeps and breathes raw inner city music
|
| The flow that I spits is not to be confused with
|
| Commercial radio rap put out for your amusement
|
| God gave me a brain so I’mma use it
|
| Who in the world want war (7X)
|
| With this thorough Philly boar
|
| I gets do-o-own like the diaboloical B-I-Z M-izza M-izza-A-R-K-I-E
|
| Trapped behind these bars of life, can’t say that I’m free
|
| Cause when I wake up, hell on earth every day I see |
| In this 360-degree sphere of fear, beware
|
| Of things falling near, and stay prepared for the worst
|
| So much vital information you could find in each verse
|
| Before I die I bury my rhymes beneath the dirt
|
| Indestructible,? |
| on God’s green earth
|
| Your local war machines, like me, can’t be hurt
|
| Catch me in the Library of Congress doing research
|
| In DC, in a P.E. |
| «Fight the Power» t-shirt
|
| Copyrighting everything I write, so y’all can’t bite
|
| I’m here to shed light, ain’t no stopping with a red light
|
| Hip-hop heads get hyped — it’s Kev Turner
|
| No relation to Ike, when I strike I might murder
|
| Q dimensions stay coming off
|
| Like female porno star’s panties and bras
|
| Pop Dukes, old school, straight «son"ning y’all
|
| With new school lyrical tools leavin you stuck without a gun to draw
|
| You don’t wanna ball with these words, they hit hard
|
| Doin away with? |
| , then punk bruises and scars
|
| Gang war, you better call it a truce, use your smarts
|
| I’m two thousand and two tons of lyrical art
|
| That’ll crush your heart and discourage your courage |
| Destroy your sole purpose on this eartly surface
|
| The rawest, I’m flawless call me Mr. Perfect
|
| Cock back, my style goes off on the track, straight murk it
|
| We the current that circles through the underground circuit
|
| Fill the streets full with serpents that feel life is worthless
|
| When it’s really just as precious as birth is, but first things first
|
| Drown in the depths of the sounds of these verses
|
| *scratched to end* |