| Rappers came with their styles and I left with their heads
|
| Their crews became victim of the body-snatchin dread
|
| The world is now mine, the world belongs to me
|
| I carefully planned the extinction of all wack MC’s
|
| Now innocents must prepare for my slaughter
|
| My style will inherit the world, just like water
|
| Cover it like sauce, think about who lost
|
| Niggas minds was the reason for the MC holocaust
|
| I’ll be the first to admit, I’m on some next shit
|
| Two rappers stepped up and left bullemic, and anorexic
|
| I told humans I’d conquer and bomb shit
|
| Now I stand alone and take care of my continents
|
| A&R's used to ignore me (yep) realized I was nice
|
| Now it’s no one left here to write my life story
|
| Ninety-five rappers shelled like pearls
|
| Hit by genocide, I inherited the world
|
| Chorus: repeat 4X
|
| Humanity gets crushed, with a style that’s hard
|
| «Crews crumble up, under pressure God!»
|
| I came alone, draggin bags of bones
|
| Slit my own wrists, and bleedin out microphones
|
| Consider me the MC who lives forever
|
| Rainin hemlock on niggas, yes, the God of the weather
|
| The end of time as you know it without a shotty
|
| In the simple game of freeze tag, I touched EVERYBODY
|
| Man’s worst creation like the bomb
|
| Just exist in life form, then I’m leavin town tomorrow
|
| If I hadn’t done it, the world wouldn’t be clean
|
| Now I memorize rhymes, work on my time machine
|
| Nothin shall breathe, or be conceived
|
| They shoulda known, now it’s on and the world’s on it’s knees
|
| I feel relieved, free from their directions
|
| Now I battle my reflection, ask rhetorical questions (uh-huh)
|
| My actions, they might make mortals earl
|
| I won’t have that problem, I inherited the world
|
| Now put thought to the word one
|
| Cause now I got Mad time to think about what I done
|
| It’s too quiet here, I’m losin my mentality
|
| I’m actually alone and I’m startin to see reality
|
| No more hip-hop -- what was I thinkin of?
|
| No more fat tracks and no family to love
|
| No incidents makin black people tighter
|
| No more real MC’s doin time in the cypher
|
| No wreckin shows, no more gettin biz
|
| I fantasize and hear voices sayin, «Yo that shit was fat kid»
|
| Nothin to look forward to, day after day
|
| So why write rhymes — who’s gonna hear what I have to say?
|
| And if I do, who’s gonna appreciate it?
|
| Humanity terminated, I’m alone and I hate it
|
| I lost it all, my crew and my girl
|
| All because I had to inherit the world.
|
| Chorus (-Mad Skillz) * repeat to end *
|
| Uhh. |
| Mad Skillz. |
| keep on
|
| Peace out to everybody that’s here
|
| All the corpses, all the wack MC’s. |