Yo, you're not as cold as me, motherfucker, stop pretendin'!
I'll murder you in front of your crib like John Lennon
Rip the tendons out of your muscle to cut the tension
I'm beyond your comprehension
Like related subatomic particles and fifth dimensions
Suspension in your breathin' is what I'm leavin'
'Til a legion of demons whisper the meaning of life in your ear
Right before they make your motherfuckin' life disappear
But just 'cause you hear the multi-syllabic grammatical
Don't compare me to rappers that are on sabbatical
'Cause I never did business in Little fuckin' Italy
I play checkers on triple-decker tour buses in Tripoli
The way that you typically bicker with me inexplicably
Is a mystery that pisses me off ridiculously
Because I'm lyrically beyond your level scientifically
Specifically spittin' out the spic in me prolifically
I'm the majority of America futuristically
After I die, fuck my music, you'll feel me spiritually
Darker than Sicily rippin' above the averages
You hold no weight, like bitches after miscarriages
And your label produces no kids, like gay marriages
I'm disparagin' every fake thug rapper in sight
That's why your faggot-ass will never make it into the light
I'll crack your skull when I smash your face into the mic
And now you know what I'm like
I'll Suge Knight the industry
I feel like the spirit of Nat Turner got into me
You're infinitely hopeless
You sound like shit when you spit live, like Jennifer Lopez
I'll massacre a rich rapper and all his broke friends
And go to Club Cheetah, rockin' some blood-soaked Tims
Party-crashin', animal-fuckin' model bitches
Leavin' their stick-figure anorexic pussy in stitches
My verbal blitzes have outshined your offense
You're watered-down nonsense, and I'm two-hundred proof
Chokin' the local youth in this home-made vocal booth
You're a fuckin' incompetent killer like Rae Carruth
And I'm Technique, the rawest nigga ever produced
I spit nastier than regurgitatin' period juice
So burn your fuckin' rhyme book
Stay warm, and put it to good use
I'm about to drop like frozen airplane shit through your roof
And I'm sick of fake hustlers tellin' lies to the youth
You never robbed Dominicans
And you couldn't sling rocks if you was Palestinian
You broke motherfucker, you cats don't burn rubber
You niggas can't even get a fuckin' cab like Danny Glover
You ain't hardcore, I'll smack the shit out of your mother
You wanna be gutter? I'll leave you laid out in the street
Signed yours truly, the motherfuckin' Immortal Technique
Other Immortal Technique songs:
all Immortal Technique songs all songs from 2011