[Intro: Mr. Gene Poole]
Unnhhaa, Hunhh!
Now!
Hunnhh! Coughs Hunhh!
You'll See!
Hunnhh!!
Haha Yeah!
Hunnhh!
[Verse 1: Mr. Gene Poole]
Yo
I'm a true songwriter, in love with music having pen sex
Since I got that publishing, if they don't send checks to my crib
20 niggas flex all in any fashion to your residence
Fuck city ordinance, I violate all coordinates
Unfortunate kids from the kingdom of the demons
Did an experiment on white egg and black semen, and got three men
What did you expect? the Gene Poole process wasn't invented
It's natural, know your descendants before you babble
I move my word to travel pavement, sand, water, or gravel
Gradually cover distance and do everything manually
Which automatically should bring me five-point three annually
Security financially, come under my canopy
Ain't no more fly, I land MC's on hennepin boots
I got crews in denim and boots, chilling at the center of youth
Repent to the truth, bumbaclot. even in winter we shoot
I lick one for my sneaky african. he my nigga, too
I cook at the 2, with everyone
And hold grudges on judges
From accidental nudges, I walk away with monthly budgets
But I choose to be cool, so if you spot my mom
Tell her to hit me on the web, p-double-o dot com
[Verse 2: Gen. Woundwart]
Come take an ad-venture with the bad mentor
Through the tunnels of the wild rap hustle
Don't even make a chuckle, shhhh
One small sound and an avalanche might fall down and bring the rubble
On your huts and your terraces, better prepare for this shit
About to come from a specialized terrorist
Careless dummies are catching torture from the 24-track recording
Something to wake you up in the morning
Or maybe at the break of dawn
Lyrics comes sweet over the tongue like dijon as I spread'em over the song
It's a trivial issue for me to rip you into shreds
As the rhyme embeds, into your head like dreads
I got stamina, to walk through a bloody massacre
So, can you stomach the thought of sleeping on body parts?
The clock strikes twelve soon, bout to be a dog day afternoon
'Cuz I serve havoc on a spoon
Under the moon I stroll down a road on foot
Hoodie over my dome, and shoulder bag full of books
The destination is a place where ain't nobody chasing me
And all the bullshit's breeze
[Verse 3: Sept Sev Sev Two]
That kid Sept, he couldn't fuck with the powder
The next time he woke up, he would awaken in another dimension
Kind of a parallel universe, similar time measurements
A lot like earth, in fact just a few subtle differences
Monster of the planet cower in his presence
How's that for ego booster? How's that for power flexing?
Now I reckon the average head might abuse the position
Not Sept, x-ray views the web, knows it needs fixing
And he's the man for the chore, a man fans can adore
Reassure the people and take evil to war
You've seen it before, in comics, movies, trilogies
But Sept was living it to the fullest, super ability
Unlimited ultra human traits
On a mission to see if he can toy a twist of fate
That kid Sept, couldn't fuck with it
Vowed the next time he woke up, he would awaken in another dimension
It's like these, it's like those, it's like that's all
Rhymesayers releases, collect'em all like Madballs
[Pat Juba as Ice Loc]
Yo what up, this Ice Loc, you know what I'm saying, from down the block
Them DYNO niggas be, when they come kick shit
[Outro: Gen. Woundwart]
It is an oath
To unquestionably obey
The Unknown Superiors...
It is an oath
To unquestionably obey
The Unknown Superiors...
It is an oath
To unquestionably obey
The Unknown Superiors...
The Unknown Superiors...Hahahahahahaha
