[Verse 1: O.C.]
Yo
Unfold remarkable soul, cold-blooded, bleeding
Icicles equivalent to North Pole, roll
El-Producto style, Buddha mindstate, but I don’t
Smoke weed to proceed. Follow my lead
I Rockwell when “Somebody’s Watching Me,” rhymes fine
Like Denzel, having shorties all jocking me
My poetry painting pictures—call me Picasso
Not so fast. Put your microphone back in the stash. When I’m through
Foes with hoes, take what fits. You ain’t worth
What O.C. hold, dick made of gold. Soul-
-controller, ruler of my dest’, all eyes on me
Like a pair of thirty-eight double-D’s. Rest
Assured, when I be on the mic, war, holding the goods
Like you buying in the surplus store. You see?
I brought it down a notch so you could understand O
I’m smooth like a harp, you nothing but a banjo
Advance yo’ tech-nine style? That shit is played out
Run into the likes of a Mongo Slade. Uh!
Fallout, the general be on command now
At the quarter of the century, I’m the man, child. Fuc That
Abbreviated F.T., soon to come, bust off
We bust back, strapped, ready for war. What?!?
[Hook: F.T. (AKA Fuc That)] (x2)
Yo, when you
Hear this shit, I bet your head’ll swing (What?!?) ‘cause this a ghetto thing
Where we pack metal thangz just to settle thangz
[Verse 2: Pharoahe Monch]
Get your motherfucking orders of
Protection. Emcees? No question
See, I was raised in an ill drug section
And it persuaded my poetical selections to be
Hardcore. Shit, I swore on my father’s
Grave I’d make slaves of niggas who played brave
I craved to engrave my name inside of the pavement
And my basement’s an arrangement of different torture devices
That slices the first niggas who think they are the nicest
My advice is to you: think twice
The price to pay is your life. Jesus Christ, I am
The Pharoahe. The road I’m on is kind of narrow, plus there’s
A fork in this shit, and I don’t know which way to go
But these scriptures are sculptures. For crews
Of dead rappers, the words hover above like vultures
Vipers, I write the type of shit to make niggas incite
Race riots from the hate that white invited
Sinister. When it’s the time to finish the rhyme, watch the
Minister climb up (Up), filling in the atmosphere
Like cannabis, and if it’s activating me, believe
I’m captivating heat plus I’m decapitating three emcees
With my axe like thoraxes. Practice
Allows me to receive information like faxes—what?!?
[Hook: F.T. (AKA Fuc That)] (x2)
Yo, when you
Hear this shit, I bet your head’ll swing (What?!?) ‘cause this a ghetto thing
Where we pack metal thangz just to settle thangz
[Verse 3: F.T. (AKA Fuc That)]
Niggas, you better watch
Your back. It takes concentration and confrontation
So fuck conversating and contemplating
Arms I’m breaking, spin a barrel wild like a carousel
‘Cause no emcees parallel, especially when I have an L
These raps is meant to fear. Yo, I’ma rip this sentence here
My comprehension scares to leave you in intensive care
Check my credentials with pen and pencils on instrumentals
I’ll make your mental experimental. Don’t be
Acting cock-a-mamey ‘cause niggas on my block is crazy
Talking that rap shit, you couldn’t even rock a baby
Bitch, I went out and bought a rifle (Why?) ‘cause F is more than trifle
I’m sorta psycho like a retard on a motorcycle
My mind changes when the time changes. An emcee
That ain’t saying shit might as well be rapping in sign language
I get darkened eyes when I spark the lye
Start stomping guys, have ‘em screaming, “Let’s compromise!”
And love a fly brawl, so why stall? Keep looking at me
I’ma spray some Lysol in your eyeball, nigga
[Interlude: F.T. (AKA Fuc That)]
Street Smartz affiliated
[Hook: F.T. (AKA Fuc That)] (x4)
Yo, when you
Hear this shit, I bet your head’ll swing (What?!?) ‘cause this a ghetto thing
Where we pack metal thangz just to settle thangz
