Lyrics
Feels like I’m locked in hell’s gate and God’s my cellmate
Saying «plot this jailbreak, pop the cops who tailgate!»
You sealed your fate, prying inside my business
To find a mind as scientific as Mayan hieroglyphics
As God’s my witness, I’ll spit viral sickness
Like Bible-scripted Black Plague in the last day’s final minutes
On primal vicious grind, 'til my vinyl shipments climb
Through the grapevine to be the finest vintage wine
Sky’s the limit? Fine, I’m in your atmosphere
The racketeer the sky into falling on your rap career
And I ain’t stacking near the millions I’m worth
'cuz saying something ill in a verse and having skills are a curse
But still, I got a feeling that this villain at work’ll be More chillin' than still-born children at birth
I’m the king, my underlings are building my church
And when your mom close her eyes to pray, I’m stealing her purse
Now, God willing I become the illest on earth
Where love is hate, so I just pray your feelings get hurt
My life is tragic, so it’s only right I right the madness
Like being psychopathic’s my right of passage
Don’t care what the price of gas is, I’ll splash it on you
While I’m lighting matches and put out the flames with nitric acid
Spiteful bastard, I’m back with a vengeance
A fifth of Jack and Mac-11 to capture the essence
I’m just an artist getting closer to the edge
So when I go over, know I put my soul in what I said
For real, 'Bolic ain’t focused on the bread
I had enough of that, so if you with me where the fuck you at?
(Where the fuck you at?) We right here!
Fuck your gunfights, all I need is one mic and crowd time
And I can outshine the sunlight on cloud 9
For now I’m climbing uphill and grinding
'til I chill reclining on a diamond-studded silver lining
Fearless rhyming, but those skeptics don’t get it Most said I dig my own grave, I’m too poetic
Stress like Po said, let’s Organize Konfusion
I’m just a microphone fiend, always high, using
The rush intoxicated me and fortified the movement
And plus I get to slaughter guys, all for my amusement
Drawing my conclusion, don’t need a label budget
So I’m saying «fuck it» like I’m way above it, you can hate or love it Raised in Suffolk, fighting like I’m Razor Ruddock
Without a pot to piss in, urinate in public
In the home of Rakim, Erick Sermon, R.A. the Rugged
Diabolic’s dancing with the devil angel-dusted
Bring the ruckus, let’s rumble in the slums
So I can punch you in the ribs 'til they’re puncturing your lungs
I’m just wondering, how the fuck you doubling your funds
By lying about scratching off the numbers on a gun?
Cuz the muthafuckas where I’m from feel inside
That even though Dilla died, hiphop is still alive
And it will survive the fake thugs talking tough
When I click the nine and get a dial tone and call your bluff
