| «The king of the ring, undisputed |
| There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide» |
| Yeah, one-two, one-two |
| It’s like, wah wah-wah-wah, one-two, one-two |
| Listen |
| Pharoah clique, man stop playing |
| Cartier weaponry, chain gang recipe |
| Punch you in your face after we exchange pleasantries |
| I always understood that the pain was a necessity |
| Put the pressure on you until we exchange densities |
| Stupid motherfucker thinking he can change destiny |
| It’s a different game, man, need the same referee |
| Me and marciano, different people, same legacy |
| Brought a motherfucker back, still the same treachery |
| How could you ever be a leader and bring less than me? |
| That’s the type shit that make a motherfucker dead to me |
| Nineteen eighty-eight, back when death made leprosy |
| Life is hard money, and the pain, the accessory |
| You catch a heart attack, coming fatter, gravy spinach |
| Carjack your whip, catch your baby in it |
| I rock a navy fitted, av leather, custom stitchwork |
| My constituent more accurate, aim training in the navy given |
| Early with the dirty harry pistol |
| Rarely my words miss you |
| 'Til your area’s crippled, and buried where |
| The words’ll get you (fucker) |
| When I click mine, your whole clique dying |
| Flick a slam, ricochet through hips and it’s blam (blam) |
| Bulldozer through your house (celph, pave the way) |
| Be the hardest non-graffiti artist (this play’s a k) |
| Titanium pop screamer, my voice be ice cold |
| Cause just a slight tone’ll burn a hole through the mic-phone |
| Chemicals in the lab, mixed up, cause exposures |
| Wizards in cloaks, breathe, focus, sip potions |
| Fbi profile is going through the motions |
| Psychoanalyze my behavior and emotions |
| Alien from the abyss coming out the ocean |
| Cops lick shots, bullets travel in slow motion |
| Bare flesh exposed to state cause corrosion |
| Frost bit and frozen, bodies get ripped open |
| The pack of wolves close in, claws exposed skin |
| The crows would sing for the leftovers the bones bring |
| Scavengers with bags full of jewelry and old rings |
| Wash the blood off of the gold in a cold spring |
| This ain’t nothing new, it’s an ancient, old thing |
| When man chases money, but only the ghost win |
| Don’t say that it don’t sting when walking in cold winds |
| Just fade into the forest homie, tighten your coat strings |
| I design profound takes over rugged soundscapes |
| Niggas bugging, go apes when they open the drapes |
| We kill niggas, and leave bodies soaking in lakes |
| I compose another opus as the locus awaits |
| Til I exist above the clouds with the past time greats |
| I’m in a booth pounding my chest like wild primates |
| A black ayatollah khomeini, don’t ever think you can play me |
| I kidnap rappers and tell they broke families to pay me |
| With ebt, warehouse is full of cds |
| So I can package sixteens like I’m packaging keys |
| You need practice, your raps ain’t fucking with these |
| So in a word, you’re johnny blaze, nigga, you know my steez |
| Fresh is what it means to be, illegally |
| I’m lashing out these lyrics so easily |
| At least you see the beast in me |
| So melodic, yet malicious when it manifest |
| A manifold of manpower, quick to put your man to rest |
| The melancholy after the mention of severed bodies |
| Settles in the devil’s skin so who’s next to stop me? |
| I couldn’t imagine a loss |
| Back with an immaculate force |
| Ratchet with the action, a torch |
| Actually the battles are false |
| Superhero, zero loss |
| Planetary, presidential |
| Actually a killer priest who walks with a heavy mental |
| A cut above what you love, yeah I know I said it |
| What you rapping about? I’m cashing out without a line of credit |
| I slaughter rappers and autograph all they coffins after |
| The mourning master, your raps are good, for yawns and laughter |
| Find me standing on your lawn with two machetes, seven pharaohs |
| Fifty tecs, eighty guns, your bishop and your lady comes |
| This way, the capital e |
| Capital s, happy to be |
| At the capital grille, with your girl |
| She wants to pay the bill |
| Be my guest, you regress |
| And drives you crazy like the dj |
| Khaled saying «we the best» |
| When a.o.t.p. Spit that nastiness |
| My rap attack lives in a habitat that shatters kids |
| And working lids embroidering hats, a pussy gaze, it did no biz |
| It pay no dues, guts and glory |
| Spit your soft story |
| Esoteric balls and cannibal holocaust |
| Level gory |
| «Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide» |
| We blacking out, we mobbing on you motherfuckers |
| Four in the morning out here, we drunk out here |
| We acting a fool, you nahmean? |
| Yeah, philly to motherfucking belgium |
| Yo stallone, how you living papa? |
| Aotp |