Lyrics
Yo, when you swing it, make sure you mean it
Swift knee kick to the penis, that can happen real quick genius
Satisfaction through an action, old fashion, closed caption
Ain't looking at it, that's when it trap you
The Art of War's the war of arts
Two MC's going in, going off, look how the vocals come off
Perfect, the beat synchronized to the verses
Perfect, you are learning to worship the serpent
At first observance, what we spit seem worthless
But if you give it urgence, you will witness purpose
This style of language was challenged, exiled and banished
They gave it to Keith, Berkeley and Canibus
I write 'til the ink pen ends
Yet again leather hands being held together by rubber bands
The metaphor approaches, agoraphobic poets protest
Crushed, killed, destroyed, stressed
Parabolic electronics listen to far off objects
That are more interesting to talk with
I stock market crash in the park and tax audit
And my rap office sound exchange pays cash on the profits
(Soon ah very soon, we are going to see the king)
Take off your watch and your rings
Let me see the floor touch your chin
You will never touch another microphone again
Stop fronting, you don't want nothing to do with nothing
We resort to knife testing, bat swinging, gun busting
Stop fronting, all of a sudden you want something
If we catch you niggas stunting, we gon' blow you up with something
Stop fronting, you don't want nothing to do with nothing
We resort to knife testing, bat swinging, gun busting
Stop fronting
We bring it from the heart to the larynx
And walk our talk to the fullest of our steps
In every verse, y'all talk about beef
Please, y'all rappers is comic relief
When we rhyme we bless the nation
Convicts feel good like just getting off probation
What the fuck we gotta do to get our props?
Go walk up and murder George Bush and his pops?
Get shot, move to Hollywood?
Do a stupid ass movie, write a book, and then go pop?