(Intro - A-F-R-O)
I knew this white boy named Mike, y'know what I'm sayin'
He was a hillbilly, he tried to talk that bullshit about me being black
And I told him, I was like, "Naw, Mike, no. That's racist
I'ma have to stomp ya guts out right now with my Timberland boot
And then I gotta choke yo neck with my shoelaces."
I'm on some raw shit
But, ya'll niggas, 'gon be fucked up
(Verse 1 - A-F-R-O)
Rock-solid, caused all of the raw conscience
Pause, stop it, ya'll oughta be all honest
Both of ya arms short to box with God
It's impossible, you done battled the wrong prophet
Shot off his raw Glock to ya'll cranium
Playin' all these motherfuckers, oughta be an alien
Flyin' in his spaceship, cryin' too basic
Lyin' to ya face, kid, death what you facin'
Locked in the basement, drop you on your fuckin' head
Enough said, the best bless the microphone, finesse
Address the intelligent mic presence I'm embedded with
Forever rest tentatives, niggas actin' sensitive
Who the fuck said you need friends when brothers by ya side
Livin' life, smother mics with a pillow, cut the air supply
Shared this mind, it's unfair to oblige, you care to die?
Motherfuckers wonder why do I tear the mic
This is what every artist comes to eventually
This is what our children gotta see
You're doin' it right now!
(Verse 2 - Trol7)
I'm sittin' in my room, then came this epiphany
Knowledge that can't be stopped, that even means judicially
I'm basically indestructible, bitch niggas ain't friends of me
But, not with the poof to the back of my head, they call me Trol F. Kennedy
With verbal weaponry I destroy these rappers' legacies
Step up to Abstuxz, and you'll get death as a penalty
Successfully, I beat beats with lyrical complexity
The best emcee who keeps catching multiple felonies
Medically unstable, still runnin' from your serenity
Fightin' to the death, knockin' out enemies impeccably
Who gives a fuck if I walk with a limp, this livid pimp
Will still smack a dumb bitch, nigga, tough shit
Low jeopardies, the remedy that keep my brain at hella ease
Hella weak needs, but I gotta work if I wanna eat
So, everyday I'm walkin' to that bus stop, cock blocks
On my paycheck, stop car, guac, now I gotta hit the block
If it wasn't for my people
I would've overdosed off the needle, then beaten for my freedom
Yet, I'm still livin' to see the sequel
Look at your people, look at your people
They're ignorant, they're stupid
All they wanna do is drink, and smoke, and talk shit!
(Verse 3 - Cur3)
Riches in the slums put the peasants in the palace
Imagine all the families
Broken all apart, and certain hearts into the fallacies
And certain 'bout the tragedies, formalities are shook up
Baby in the bundle, while the crackers bein' cooked up
Police is gettin' paid while the slaves take a book cut
And they wonder why there's hoodlums
Hand on the wall, standin' tall while they booked him
They stared him in his eyes with demise as they pushed him
And put him in his handcuffs
Told the boy, "Stand up," then asked him for the ransom
Blowin' smoke into his face, while they all were laughin'
Outstandin', he was reachin' for a cannon
Deadly thoughts were passive, cause the murder of a pig
That he was plannin'
That's why I'm gettin' off this planet
That's why I'm gettin' off this planet
And you can tell with the music and the images that they put out
They're just goin' along with what it takes to get money!
(Verse 4 - Bugs)
I got bars like state penitentiaries, you got bars like Kit-Kat
In fact, you were not or were a mis-match
When I dis-patch, this dick s-smack
You'll get kicked back into elementary
You need to get a good job and a full degree
That's what my father said to me
Rappers swear that, rappin' is your destiny
With nothin' else in the world to offer
Sit down, boy, you can't even hold the mic proper-ly
I'm burnin' great emcees to the third, fourth, and fifth degree
Spirit of a visionary, I came to show ya'll differently
Just like when I'm showin' these women
More positions than just missionary
I've been sinning since the beginning
Nineties' baby rockin' Timbs and Denim, I'll run up on ya lady
Fuck your swag, Broseph!
I got funk from the eighties!
I am what hope is!
Step to me, brother, get lit like Hades
Big fish in a small pond, full of invertebrates
At my height, I stand tall, son, focused and murderous
Posted in service to any rapper that's heard of this
Thing called hip-hop, I'm sure of it
Trol7, Cur3 from the OC
Here to murder it
Abstuxz, OverCast, OC, murderin'