[ VERSE 1: Keith Nut ]
|
Holy Christ, I leave rappers' souls as cold as ice
|
I'm like a poltergeist when I strike, turnin men to mice
|
Breakin the law, city urban tower without a four
|
Bringin the raw homicidal lyrics that clear the floor
|
Niggas thought they seen the last of this
|
Project poet assassinist
|
Whose status is never havin to clappin clips
|
Have to black-on-black some shit, attractive accentes
|
Life luxury ??? crackin it
|
Runnin with drugs and dealers
|
Thugs and killers, slugs in villas
|
Black gorillas and million dollar billers
|
Microphone nemesis, murder affiliate
|
Lyricists get dissed, dismissed, thrown off the premises
|
Poetically mugged, pedigree's incredibly
|
Movin steadily, thoroughly
|
Clippin you somethin terribly
|
Keith Nut, one of the last to go
|
One of the last to flow
|
One of the last niggas to blow
|
|
[ CHORUS: Armageaddon ]
|
Now who them niggas that be breakin rules? (T Squad)
|
Now who them niggas that be payin dues? (Keith Nut)
|
Now who them niggas that be roamin the town
|
Blowin a pound, since day one holdin it down
|
Now who them niggas that be breakin rules? (T Squad)
|
Now who them niggas that be payin dues? ('Geaddon)
|
Now who them niggas that be roamin the town
|
Blowin a pound, since day one holdin it down
|
|
[ VERSE 2: Armageaddon ]
|
I'm here to reclaim my respect
|
Reppin the set that be bangin my chest
|
T.S., the God's medaillon, tombstone and begets
|
Alone and wet I blow my own Tec
|
Ever had beef with 'Geadd and hold no regrets
|
Then you was no threath
|
I go to Death blessed with God's heed
|
And drop a gem on your melon so hard it make you knock-knee
|
And my plot's greed, my theme's murder
|
My climax is when the heat from the burner
|
Blast me the wings to go further
|
Nigga, the century's turnin and I went out of patience
|
You think you hard, that .44 blast, it clouds your concentration
|
Again, think about it, before my gun hollers
|
And kill everything around em even if you bought the album
|
Enforce the power with guns, dollars and politics
|
Start a baby apocalypse when my .44 ??? spit
|
Pops in and out your skin, breakin through sound and wind
|
Piercin the meat and [edited] back out again
|
|
[ CHORUS ]
|
|
[ VERSE 3: Keith Nut ]
|
Next nigga treason's gonna meet the demons
|
Left for his mama grievin
|
When I squeeze the Desert Eag' and cease his breathin
|
Wreck your set, make the average rapper wish for death
|
Clap him at the chest, bless him with the Wesson, hope you got your vest
|
Keith's the last to test, the last to gasp for breath
|
Send you on a crash course to death when I blast the Tec
|
Terror faculty known for fillin cavities gradually
|
Stackin g's, sippin D'Acquerys, livin happily rapidly
|
[ VERSE 3: Armageaddon ]
|
I don't give a fuck, all I could do with my life was pitch my luck
|
Act sheist when they look at us, that's the price when you cruise a truck
|
And I'd advise you to analyze us, find out who you can trust
|
Rival me plus memorize the eyes of the dudes you bust
|
You never know when it's over, rise up out of the tomb and dust
|
The movin slug was smoothly touched before you recognized who he was
|
And I recognize ??? for doin the shit that stupid does
|
My cats gon' shoot them slug, send them things right through yo mug
|
|
[ CHORUS ]
|
|
-----------------
|
Payin' Dues
|
| Terror Squad |
