[Intro]
|
Niggaz listen to this shit right now
|
Got this shit goin down
|
That New World Order, niggaz is holdin it down
|
Niggaz ain't ready man, everybody know what time it is man
|
Y'all niggaz listenin to this shit right now
|
All my niggaz in the street
|
Man y'all niggaz know what time it is, are they ready?
|
Let's see it, let's see if these niggaz is ready man
|
|
[Killah Priest]
|
My brain is a coliseum unfinished, an art museum that none vision
|
A masoleum before the sun risen
|
Dark wisdom, break the order of the magic witches
|
The tablet that we gifted, fall in the hands of the music business
|
The sacred oath, to snake his post
|
He flinches, I take his ghost
|
Shadow war, we battle for
|
the emerald wing that unfold wings
|
When you enter the temple they sing, hieroglyphs
|
up a spiral cliff, follow the monk for months
|
Close your eyes when his disciples is sent
|
Every morn' the first satellite hit
|
I spit, the prayer laws recite from scripts
|
then it's back to the silence
|
Patient observe the lotus bud, I write the scroll on each clove
|
This is discipline before beast mode
|
Follow G-O-D code
|
Fondle my prayers beads, under a pear tree, this prepares me
|
Then a chair was formed by the bees
|
I bared the dare, come around me
|
I won't speak for weeks, I hold my tongue
|
Now I can hold the Sun - how is it I outnumber y'all?
|
And y'all got me by 6 to 1 (y'all got me by 6 to 1)
|
|
[Born Sun]
|
The Elohim hold court in the ether
|
Decidin the fate of the human race I plead my case through the speakers
|
Sun the rapper who mastered the dark matter
|
The God particle mass created to smash atoms
|
Deal with energies that vibrate at higher frequencies
|
Your chakra's gotta be in line to even speak to me
|
Journey through time and I doubt you'll ever find
|
a shine on mines like mine that dwarf Einstein
|
See I confuse Confuscius, with a complex theory of evolution
|
with mind power that devoured Isaac Newton
|
Heaven on Earth? Nah! It's more like some sort of Hell
|
War with Satan ground shakin from the mortar shell
|
Escape the Matrix like Morpheus
|
Dodgin bullets in slow motion like we smokin some dust
|
But my third eye's bright enough to spar with the Dalai Lama
|
Verbal projectiles pierece spiritual body armor
|
I'ma, master builder from an enslaved mason
|
Tryin to hide my true identity as my creation
|
Lines I scribed identify who I'm facin
|
It's war! And either you a God or a Satan
|
"Lyrical Law" draws a paper thin between love and hate
|
Decide if you destroy or create
|
They think it's verbal but this warfare is spiritual
|
We box 'em in, apply pressure to his physical
|
Check one two, who got more style than Sun do?
|
None do, solar flare your Earth duke, son you
|
I body the mic, I body the beat
|
I body the emcee with the audacity to flow after me
|
|
[K-Solo]
|
My automated system got eight wicked concoctions
|
If that don't satisfy press nine for more options
|
BOOOOP, I can't believe you just did that
|
Twenty thousand wigs just concurrently slid back
|
Ha~! I blow flames in hot dosages
|
If I get too thirsty the Earth'll be oceanless
|
Feelings don't move me, I guess I'm emotionless
|
Sick party host, pinata full of locustses
|
Bobbin for live grenades inside a bucket
|
I know the plural pronounciation is "locust" but fuck it!!
|
What are the percentages, of a man actually choken to death
|
after swallowin phonetic images?
|
I spit unlimited pandemics, they're liberally distributed
|
Millions of rappers skin grafts and can't spit it
|
As I child I would see and slay; they'd check my room
|
and find my imaginary friend's imaginary DNA
|
It's gutwrenching - my ultimate intention
|
is to sit on top of The Tower of Infinite Ascension
|
Carry know the agg' jacker who ravages natural
|
Like Z in the alphabet I keep comin after you
|
The judge said for the sake of my health
|
I've been ordered to stay a hundred miles away from myself
|
You ain't hard! You a fake, I won't stop until I've blown his cover
|
You softer than the baby sister of a Jonas Brother
|
|
[Canibus]
|
You ain't a behavioral scientist, why you dyin to spit?
|
You try too hard when you rhymin with 'Bis, try ag |