One, two, I'm about to set this off, like this, hip-hoppers, check it
Another emcee loses life tonight, Lord I beg not you pray to Jesus Christ, why?
Oh Lord, Father, don't let him bury me, whoa
I haunt emcees like Mephistopheles, bringing swords edamame-ly
Secret service, keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy
Abstract rap, simple with the street format Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax
Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion
Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation
Feel like Rockwell, somebody's watching me
I got no privacy, whether on land or at sea
And for your biting zealots, your rap's a click, I find it
If a print predict, but deep inside you wish you had the pop kit
It hurts, don't it? A refugee come to your turf and take over the earth
See my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes That can only get down with my crew
And if you try to take lines or buy rhymes We'll show you how the refugees do
Behold, it's my old man to fold on your rhymes Two emcees can't occupy the same space at the
same time It's against the laws of physics
So we bezier, sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics
Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile Whether Jew or gentile, I rank top
percentile Many styles, more powerful than gamma rays
My grammar pays like Carlos Santana played Black Magic
So are you human? I'm consuming mango juice under Polaris
You just embarrassed cause it's your last tango in Paris
And even after all my logic and my theory I add them up alone
So you ignorant, you can't hear me And remember, take notes
Cause I sold my rap oats For your biting zealots, here's a quote
Aye, another emcee losing life tonight Oh, I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ
Why? Oh Lord, Father don't let him bury me
Aye, you can try but you can't divide the tribe These cats can't rap, Mr. Author, I feel no vibe
The magazine says the girl should've went solo The guy should stop rapping
Vanished like a noodle, took it to the heart But every actor plays his part
As long as someone was listening, I knew it was the start
For me to get the chance, *** my pen and revamp Do a cameo while everybody do the dance
Quick now, cause you're running out of lucker Playing Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucker
While you munching at your luncheon I'll be planning your assassination
Then hit you like the Dutchman
I compress sound sets with my rap DBX Then drop vocals on my 456 Ampex
Bring Terra to the shop of horror As she cry me out more
The phantom dies in the opera
The two of the youngins who carry gadgets And kill six days a week, the rest on the Sabbath
Violence ain't necessary Unless you propose we then get buried like the great Mussolini
And for your biting zealots, your rap stars are relics
No matter who you damage, you're still a false prop
Hey, another emcee loses life tonight Lord, I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ
Why, oh Lord, Father don't let them bury me
What's going on, man?
Yo, kid, we can't let these cops come around here and just do whatever they want
Rob jokers, steal from people, shoot us down We gotta do something about this, man
I was with Floyd up there, you know Floyd the cop
He just get a hard-on for just shooting