[Immortal Technique:]
Somebody talked shit to me in L.A. and never lived
'Cause brown roll deeper than red or blue ever did
I got bullets that'll rip through your ribs
More painful than watching R. Kelly piss on your kids
Here's the ultimatum mothafucka
Give me that ass cap
Or give America Biggie and Tupac flashbacks
Some niggaz don't think the Underground is grimy and dirty
'Til they find your body on a fucking highway in Jersey
I fire rockets at generic topics
Your lyrics don't hold weight
Like two-dimensional objects
'Cause jail culture didn't give you that fitted hat
To memorize a ghostwritten shit verse and spit it back
I won't let your wack rhymes redefine lyricism
For a whole generation with their fathers in prison
You live inside the image of an Era that's gone
Like government officials trying to justify Vietnam
I'll leave niggaz traumatized like they momma died
And they was responsible for the driveby homicide
And I don't market revolution, I live it
What you think cause you fake everyone else is a gimmick
Jealous bickering, industry slaves, the nerve of you
Like a child prostitute born into a life of servitude
Until we murder you making the red carpet burgundy
The Psycho Realm and the streets were I prefer to be
[Chorus]
INCOMPLETE
