[The Allen Parson's Project:] "Two of a kind...Silence and I We'll find a way to work it out"
[Intro: Vinnie Paz] Yeah...Pazmanian Devil Louis Dogs...hahahahahaha AOTP, Celph Titled King Syze, baby Walk with me (hahahahahaha) Yeah...
[Verse 1: Vinnie Paz] Yo, I mastered the flow I know death more than Lazarus know And me defeated is infrequent like Nazareth snow Hold your urn into the air so the ashes can blow Hold my burner in the air so the pacifists know That I ain't scared to start a revolution Another fixed election, another injustice, I'ma execute 'em Land of the free, home of the bravest Who you think the victim, who you think the fuckin' slave is? People on the grind, workin' for minimum wages Workin' 9 to 9 and seein' a minimum paper Not to mention the inadequecies of welfare And the lack of a proper universal health care They don't know about the common man They care about distractin' you and hope that Israel will bomb Iran I got a bombin' hand, and it's for George Walker Meet your maker, motherfucker, meet your Lord Father
[Chorus: x2] "It's gangsta how we rock, while you watch Attracted to our style, this is how we get down With big jewelry and big guns We get busy, it get grizzly" <- Mobb Deep
[Verse 2: King Syze] Yeah, uh... Yo this is concrete rap, Q-Dimension pavin' the way It's a sacred day, waitin' for my patience to pay I'm a horse that graze in the hay that's sayin' olé I'm the evil that's born when someone good passes away I'm most good at foul things, the love and hate an unwanted child brings Right, left, life, death, distress that a trial brings The best of the wild kings, that's us This is smoked out rap, get high, angel dust Roll with niggas that be payin' them dues Playas that don't give a fuck if they lose Live they whole life drainin' booze Doc already told me, "Is it rap or smoke?" Is it Bars of Death for life, or a hole in my throat? Hard-headed, livin' my life regrettin' shit This that next shit, Syzemology: the new testament Do this for my niggas Kong and the fam' Yo I do this for them haters sayin' my songs don't bang
[Chorus]
[Verse 3: Celph Titled] If this industry's a movie, I'm the starrin' actor You're an assistant for the intern of the back up gaffer But I'm only a rapper, standin' on two feet, backstage with four whores On all fours, and that's on all tours How long can I spit a punchline and an ill statement And keep your attention span on my records for entertainment? No explainin' it, you do the math, I did the math teacher Ms. Anita spread wide, under the gymnasium bleachers Fucka, don't matter which herb speak 'Cause we got pistols with barrels longer than Big Bird's beak Plus the creamy white powder, yeah we sellin' to Milk D My audio too raw for children, it's filthy I never leave the crib without a pack of Now and Laters I pack now, and *BLAAT* later And ain't no playa you can find rollin' down the strip with hundred rounds and clips Packin' MACs in the back of the Ac' on some Big Pun shit When you hear the "click" your clique run quick, dick We transportin' handguns in minivans; that's the "pistol whip" Celph Titled, the gourmet chef, ripple effect An inconspicuous spic with kitchen mittens when I'm splittin' ya neck