[Chorus: Demetrius Capone]
Click pow, niggas hit the ground
We finna murder the game we spit the sickest style
Dickin' strippers, clickin' triggers the sickest niggas out
So tell the industry now we finna end the drought, so bow, down
Nigga bow, ya favorite rapper is lame, we finna sit him down
We came to snatch up this game, we finna stick around
We aimin' raps at ya brain, we finna spit a round, so bow, down
[Verse 1: Julius Luciano]
Uh oh, somebody done pissed the Grim Reaper off
For every emcee that diss me, I'm, diggin' ya ditch deeper
Y'all convinced me that y'all actors, y'all rappers
Made up of all chatter, ya six feet of talk
I lay ya down; you're surrounded in six feet of chalk
I ain't shit-talkin', I'm shit-speakin'
Why you pricks think it's called, monologue?
You got it y'all? Yeah you pricks thinkin', are
What gives me the gall
You see I paid the fee to be a big G and boss
I got the receipt, you don't know how much this shit even costs
See never will I receive a loss, cause I'm comin' after meals
Like dessert but ain't shit sweet or soft
Fuck a fever or a mere sneeze or cough;
I'm a sick motherfucker, like I got imbreedin' thoughts
You wouldn't be the best hands down if you cut ya dick beaters off
All that poppin' shit, nigga halt!
[Verse 2: Demetrius Capone]
You can try: robbin' my ice, robbin' my shine
My shine: is robbin' ya sight, is robbin' you blind
Now that's what I call a opposite crime
I'm half man, half machine; I'm Optimus and 'Pac in his prime
Spittin' sick and optimistic, that mean I spit, HIV positive rhymes,
Is he, out of his mind? I think, I police, the police, cockin' the nine
I son the ones -- I'm THE father of time...
My niggas is strictly the mafia
Stickin' a Glock in ya mouth, as if it's a thermometer
On a mission to try to fuck Cubana Lust
Tryna get her to swallow nut, 'til that thick bitch is spittin' my daughter up
Ya bitch is blowin' my dick like it's a harmonica
I'm gettin' Lewinsky'd like her moniker is Monica
She's fond of my anaconda I honor her
If niggas is trippin' I BLAM they yarmulke -- cancel Hanukkah!
[Chorus: Demetrius Capone]
Click pow, niggas hit the ground
We finna murder the game we spit the sickest style
Dickin' strippers, clickin' triggers the sickest niggas out
So tell the industry now we finna end the drought, so bow, down
Nigga bow, ya favorite rapper is lame, we finna sit him down
We came to snatch up this game, we finna stick around
We aimin' raps at ya brain, we finna spit a round, so bow, down
[Verse 3: Andrew "Dice" Dinero]
If y'all don't know I'm the shits when I spit
You pricks, got me fucked up, like plenty Henny sips
You're not that bright like a bulb that's dimly lit
I'm skitz, yeah I'm mad as if I'm pretty pissed!
But get me pissed, and I'm spillin' clips willy-nilly
Let my milli really split some melons and so many Bics
Put many clips of dark in your vision like an eclipse
Y'all in perfect health, meanin' you niggas ain't really sick!
This is toxic spit, this is Napalm talk
I don't mean I'm leavin' when I say "I'm off!"
Nigga I stay on my grind, I can't nod off
I take ya watch off ya wrist, that's how I take time off...
Y'all want beef? Y'all actin'; y'all hoes vegans
I say 'come back' to you cats still I'm crackin' ya whole teeth in
Collapsin' ya dome piece in, don't snooze with tools on me
Move on me and lose homies mu'fucka!
[Verse 4: Kenny Siegel]
Yeah, nigga ya rhymin' is 'bout as bad as my bottom bitch
My rhymin' is so on time that a prick could set his watch to it
I promise this: I got a ditch I dump bodies inside of it
My goal is to fill it to the top even though it's bottomless...
Y'all small time, fightin' for block domination
While C.O.B.'s tryna lock the nation
That's cause we colder than ganja blazin', definin' greatness
We as cold as a lock combination
I gives these dudes headaches, I'm more so a concussion
I'm drunk in the booth, just like my tool I'm loaded and bussin'
My flow is disgustin' don't sleep on me when you hold a discussion
You niggas wouldn't be close to me if our shoulders was touchin'
No fuckin' around, C.O.B. is that cold unit
You at a stand-still cause you have no movement
Yeah, this the fuckin' U-Gang papi
I'm the black Saddam who's-sane? Not me!
[Chorus: Demetrius Capone]
Click pow, niggas hit the ground
We finna murder the game we spit the sickest style
Dickin' strippers, clickin' triggers the sickest niggas out
So tell the industry now we finna end the drought, so bow, down
Nigga bow, ya favorite rapper is lame, we finna sit him down
We came to snatch up this game, we finna stick around
We aimin' raps at ya brain, we finna spit a round, so bow, down
