you not as cold as me
|
mother fucker, stop pretendin
|
I'll murder you in front of your crib like John Lennon
|
rip the tendons outta your muscle to cut the tension
|
I'm beyond your comprehension
|
like related subatomic particles in fifth dimensions
|
suspension in your breathing is what I'm leaving
|
until a legion of demons whisper the meaning of life in ya ear
|
right before they make ya mother fucking life disappear
|
but just because you hear the multi-syllabic gramatical
|
don't compare me to rappers that are on sabbatical
|
cause i never did business in little fucking Italy
|
i play checkers on triple-decker buses in Tripoli
|
the way that you typically bicker with me, inexplicably
|
is a mystery that pisses me off ridiculously
|
because im lyrically beyond your level, scientifically
|
specifically, spitting out the spick in me, prolifically
|
im the majority of America, futuristically
|
after i die, fuck my music, you'll feel me spiritually
|
darker than Sicily, rippin above the averages
|
you hold no weight, like bitches after miscarriages
|
and your label produces no kids like gay marriages
|
i'm disparaging every fake-thug rapper in sight
|
that's why your faggot ass will never make it into the light
|
i'll crack your skull when i smash your face into the mic
|
and now you know what i'm like
|
i'll Suge Knight the industry, i feel like the spirit of Nat Turner got into me
|
you're infinitely hopless, you sound like shit when you spit live, like Jennifer Lopez
|
i'll massacre a rich rapper, and all his broke friends
|
and go to club Cheetah, rockin some blood-soaked Timbs
|
party-crashin animal, fuckin model bitches
|
leavin their stick-figure anorexic pussy in stitches
|
my verbal blitz is to outshine your offense
|
you're watered-down nonsense, and i'm 200-proof
|
chockin a local youth in his home-made vocal booth
|
you're a fucking incompetent killer like Ray Kurut
|
and i'm Technique, the rawest nigga ever produced
|
i spit nastier than regurgitating period juice
|
so burn your fucking rhymebook, stay warm, and put it to good use
|
im bout to drop like frozen airplane shit through ya roof
|
and im sick of fake hustlers telling lies to the youth
|
you never robbed Dominicans, and you couldn't sling rocks if you was Palestinian
|
you broke mother fucker, you cats don't burn rubber
|
you niggas cant even get a cab like Danny Glubber
|
you aint hardcore, ill smack the shit outta your mother
|
you wanna be gutter? i'll leave you laid out in the street
|
signed yours truly, the mother fuckin Immortal Technique
|
|
-----------------
|
What Is Hip Hop
|
Immortal Technique |