YO, You’re not as cold as me, motherfucker stop pretending I’ll murder you in front of your crib like john lenon Rip the tendons out of your muscle to cut the tension I’m beyond your comprehension like related subatomic particles in 5th dimensions Suspension in your breathing is what I’m leaving until a legion of demons whispered the meaning of life in your ear, right before they make your motherfucking life disappear But just because you hear the multisyllabic grammatical Don’t compare me to rappers that are on sabbatical Cuz I never did business in little fucking Italy I play checkers on triple-decker tour buses in Tripoli The way that you typically bicker with me, inexplicably, is a mystery that pisses me off ridiculously Because I’m lyrically beyond your level scientifically Specifically spitting out this spick in me prolifically I’m the majority of America futuristically After I die fuck my music you’ll feel me spiritually Darker than Sicily rippin’ above the averages You hold no weight like bitches after miscarriages And your label produces no kids like gay marriages I’m disparaging every fake thug rapper in sight That’s why your faggot ass wont ever make it into the light Ill crack your skull when I smash your face into the mic And now you know what I’m like I’ll Suge knight the industry I feel like the spirit of Nat Turner got into me Your infinitely hopeless You sound like shit when you spit live, like Jennifer Lopez I’ll massacre a rich rapper and all his broke friends And go to Club Cheetah, rockin’ some blood-soaked Tims Party crashing animal fucking model bitches leaving their stick-figure anorexic pussy in stitches My verbal blitzes that outshine your offense You water downed nonsense And I’m 200 proof, choking a local youth in his homemade vocal booth You’re a fucking incompetent killer like Rae Carruth And I’m Technique, the rawest nigga ever produced I spit nastier than regurgitating period juice So burn your fucking rhyme book Stay warm and put it to good use I’m ‘bout to drop like frozen airplane shit through your roof And I’m sick of fake hustlers telling lies to the youth You never robbed Dominicans And you couldn’t sling rocks if you was Palestinian You broke motherfucker You cats don’t burn rubber You niggas can’t even get a fucking cab like Danny Gluver You ain’t hardcore, I’ll smack the shit out of your mother You wanna be gutter? I’ll leave you laid out on the street Signed yours Truly, the motherfucking Immortal TechniqueTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
