| Bless, this vision I sketch a war cry can’t rest
|
| Across frequencies east and west style
|
| Raw adrenaline, let’s tap the vein main line resistance, meditate maintain
|
| Raw to settle, the matter the cops scattered, our blood
|
| Lost so matter of fact no love lost
|
| See me cock the steely
|
| Lock on Mussolini’s ill logic on the minds of the flock
|
| No line divides, violence and reason sold
|
| This killing season is freezing souls, zero degrees and cold
|
| There’s 41 reasons to blast back
|
| No one, followed Diallo to the grave. |
| fade to black
|
| While all my city is heavy
|
| I drop elephant shit smeared the face of the
|
| Fascist priest’s pulpit
|
| So to the mayor may I, say I, endorse the wholesale murder of your force of
|
| course
|
| Cause peace is a myth in New York
|
| Burning white rocks got caught
|
| Don’t choke, if ya smell smoke, (what?)
|
| I dip my tongue in gunpowder and then I clear my throat
|
| The Aggravator, true shit spitter Mobb like Goodie
|
| While my hoody hides my eyes
|
| The critics rush me like
|
| Salman Rushdie as I
|
| Enter the center of the storm with Size
|
| Enter the center of the storm with Size
|
| Enter the center of the storm
|
| I toss pieces of my syllables like salt by a sumo
|
| Call me Akibono Akazuna, numero uno
|
| Puro Mejicano my angle is I dangle styles for
|
| The flock to follow
|
| Too deep for the shallow
|
| Superstitious niggas that get played like a tarot
|
| Bass lines rattle and will shatter your bone marrow
|
| Blind and can’t see me, believe me Stevie
|
| No need to Wonder how, Monche became the Pharaoh
|
| Tongue acrobatter, none
|
| Phatter, never narrow I Shot The Sheriff and
|
| Baretta and the sparrow got the Gift like Gab
|
| Rip your rib cage hollow funk the flame into your brain
|
| Matter with the sharpest arrows
|
| The Aggravator, true shit spitter
|
| Mobb like Goodie while my hoody hides my eyes
|
| The critics rush me like
|
| Salman Rushdie as I
|
| Enter the center of the storm with Size
|
| Enter the center of the storm with Size
|
| Enter the center of the storm
|
| Bless the track, bless the track, (what? what? what?)
|
| Bless the track, bless the track, (what? what? what?)
|
| From my mental sparks fly, why is do or die
|
| 5−0 got automatics, so why can’t i?
|
| Fly by fast like an assassin mashin'
|
| Soon we’ll see the beast reach for the sky
|
| But for now I keep my mind sharp
|
| We’ll be them bang this track in the park after dark
|
| Lips do flips never kicked fiction
|
| 2000 class summon now face the Guns of Brixton
|
| Break to face them, never check reality
|
| On it with Roni we devastate the scenery
|
| Aggravator, true shit spitter
|
| Mobb like Goodie while my hoody hides my eyes
|
| The critics rush me like
|
| Salman Rushdie as I
|
| Enter the center of the storm with Size
|
| Enter the center of the storm with Size
|
| Enter the center of the storm
|
| Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm
|
| Enter the center of the storm
|
| Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm
|
| Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm
|
| Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm
|
| Our jurisdiction the world
|
| Our jurisdiction the world
|
| Our jurisdiction the world
|
| Our jurisdiction the world
|
| Bless, this vision I sketch a war cry can’t rest
|
| Across frequencies east and west style
|
| Raw adrenaline, let’s tap the vein
|
| Main line resistance, meditate maintain
|
| Raw to settle, the matter the cops scattered, our blood
|
| Lost so matter of fact no love lost
|
| See me cock the steely lock on Mussolini’s ill logic
|
| On the minds of the flock no line divides, violence and
|
| Reason sold this killing season is freezing
|
| Souls, zero degrees and cold
|
| There’s 41 reasons to blast back
|
| No one, followed Diallo to the grave. |
| fade to black
|
| While all my city is heavy I drop elephant shit
|
| Smeared the face of the fascist priest’s pulpit
|
| So the mayor, may I, say I endorse the wholesale
|
| Murder of your force of course
|
| Cause peace is a myth in New York
|
| Burning white rocks got caught
|
| Don’t choke, if ya just smell smoke, (what?)
|
| I dip my tongue in gunpowder and then I clear my throat
|
| The Aggravator, true shit spitter
|
| Mobb like Goodie while my hoody hides my eyes
|
| The critics rush me like, Salman Rushdie
|
| As I
|
| Enter the center of the storm with Size
|
| Enter the center of the storm with Size
|
| Enter the center of the storm
|
| Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm
|
| Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm
|
| Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm, Storm |