[Verse 1: Concrete Cee] (Brother Gil)
Every Wednesday, some random punch slingers gather
To battle for 700 bucks, Concrete Cee had his ear to the chatter
I never joined in, cause rappers still mistake themselves
As my woman's boyfriend, I'm annoyed to no end
By swagger jackers crossin' my path, their limbs soften
Keep your distance, this ain't French parking, most of them
Are so blunted, it's hard to keep their wits sharpened
They fuck with us, Gil? (They'll be pissing their britches up in their coffins)
Yo you heard about a bar4bar tournament?
15k for the winner, we snatch whoever earned this shit
Burn the shit in front of his face, tell him
He want revenge? (That current look on his face is gonna be permanent)
People don't be learning shit, until shit happens to them
Ignorant motherfuckers, I'm done rapping to them
And I don't mean the pseudo artists, I mean their doodoo audience
Stick a fork in these puppets like voodoo sorceresses...
[Verse 2: Brother Gil]
Descending from the clouds, I appear
Looking down on victims making an acquaintance with my spear
Red bandana, white hair, sitting smug in my lair
Got a letter from my friend not from here...
He said the Pirates in Berlin got nine percent, that's preposterous!
The pirates that I led were never about politics
Incompetence is predominant, so I put'em on a longboat
Inside a bottle rocket, shoot it up for Jupiter
Have them academics looking in the face of Lucifer
Have them voters beheaded for not knowing who to trust
Paroles are toothless, spoken by loose-lips
Silenced by audible sharpness, no studio acoustics
Bar 4 Bar, you say? I'm a whirlwind with a poolstick
Ruthless, moreso than Shinra's son Rufus
Fowls seeking battle? Rest assured, they'll chicken out
If not, I got ya back, tell the waitress send a stout!
[Verse 3: Concrete Cee]
At the venue, on stage spittin' pure capsaicin
You ain't even past Cajun, hang yourself with fat laces
Accompanied by an assassin with a masked face
And a glass razor AKA the Wanderer's Fast Blade
Choose the wrong tone around Gil, feel a sharp pain
In the neck and be called the Crimson Cascade
Henceforth in response, I have been a different rapper
Since Q-Tip's Renaissance, real sensitive to nonsense
Judge me on character, ability and content
And not on whether video vixens looking beyond ten
Too much to ask? Or are the meanings in the lines
Too tough to grasp? I just had a rough past
And my thought patterns shape like a vine bearing grapes
Yours don't, so I stomp on ya brain, through your face
Barefooted, turn blood to wine, the shit's thicker than water
But dead rappers don't get better with age
[Verse 4: Concrete Cee] (Brother Gil)
My personality's colorful as supernova remnants
Bet your shallow thinking asses that you thought Rembrandts
Proof you ain't as ill as I am, instead of metronomes
I use a Newton Cradle to adjust to the rhythm at hand
And, your lies aren't long legged strippers on stilts
Your operation's like a flipper on tilt
So I'm staring in the eyes of a rapper playing crook, son
Knowing he a double-oh-seven Martini, shook one
Treat him like a car in the winter, and defrost the motherfucker
(Wait a minute, you thought I let him shimmer?)
No more! Pawn his trinket, drag the pendant on the floor
Throw him out a moving car, make it homicide doors
Fuck his funeral, defile his grave
Plant black roses on it, piss on'em like every five days
Read what the signs say, I cave in your neck
For tryna sell your fecal matter called rhymes for a paycheck
[Verse 5: Concrete Cee] (Brother Gil)
They say rap is entertainment - No faggot, it became it
Freemason imagery in your video's not a statement
God damn Dan Brown fans, you and I are
33 steps away from the truth, so all you do
Is cultivating cultism, I double-checked the clip
(Yup, same reaction, shook my head on my both listens)
I shook ya hand and remembered the grip, you probably don't remember the kid
Back then I was slim as a chick
I took my years observing the game, murdering lames
Conservative aim, respect, seen rappers burn in the flames
Of another spitter, while I kept my fuel drenched drawers on
Don't fear fire, not scared to fire when the torch's drawn
Honing my craft, 100 flows in the stash
Put foes in the past, get too close and get smashed
Learned lessons making my first effort, thirsting for press
But forgot to connect the dots from the purse to the cash
And fuck saying this is my year, this is my life
And there is more to a career than what appears at first sight
And, not to mention, I don't make songs with rappers I don't like
So there's a slim chance we're sharing the mic
This extended player will ensure you couldn't forget
Who dove in this game so deep, that he could change the offsets
Hexadecimal, F bars, are sixteen equivalent
Shoulder so cold, when I walk past, you shiverin'
I ain't the best? Well, it's all about perspective
Right fist, left cheek, leave you with your neck twist
You better dodge my arc of piss, the sun rays reflect and
Leave a rainbow over ya head, be glad it ain't no halo
Put my name in your mouth, chew up on the boardwalk
Or have your nose looking like the one on the Concorde
(The chairman of the Kontor has spoken, offenders get keelhauled
A 1000 yards for every rule broken)
I keep a cat o' nine tails, for a pet
In the case it has its claws in your back, then you're wet
The middlefinger's stiff from showing it to you
Your eyes sore from seeing it, but you do nothing to change it, now do you?
How about paying respects like we paying our dues?
Berlin to London linked like the Chunnel with shit we produce
While you sit and argue who is the truest
We take the scenic route on debates, cease talking and just do this
This is a tandem like Brother Mouzone and Gus Fring
Suited up in the studio, microphones in the cufflinks
A million dollar grin on our faces, knowing the project finished
Is iller than any fucking deal that you just inked
Just think for a moment, let it all sink in
Like vampire teeth hollow as tips on an inkpen
Red ball, black ball, consecutively placed
Meant to be great, this is a century break, one!
