Check
Check
The bastard son I spit non fiction
in exile for a while now with raw friction
never be a pawn the boomerang be upon you
I'm like fale with my heart in Venezuela
it's a world favela so fuck the novela
I'm out of the cellar with a blade and some cheddar
for the whole new world order you to bow down
to the now sound of slavery the era be
terrible terror filled terrified
why would we ever let a few white christian fictions
shape our tomorrow following them
cause tomorrow got a gun to it's head
Time is coming
rising like the dawn of a red sun
if you fear dying then you're, then you're already dead
I'm in with the spirit of Ali Toure
as I target more heads than a priest on ash Wednesday
paid and haning you pigs on gold ropes
have the mic or the heater but you can' hold both
you could snatch one and catch the blast of the other
I'm chicano soprano high off my pitch and
I'm a put a crack in your diamond pimp cup
so vest up I'm your cross turned right side up
I'm the press leak that downed you aide
I'm the orange jump suit thats tailor made
I'm the crescent that sidely so sharp the blade
I'm the flick of the shark that opened your eyes
I'm the dust in the frightening calm
I'm the hole in the pipeline
I'm a road side bomb
Time is coming
rising like the dawn of a red sun
if you fear dying then you're, then you're already dead
|