[Immortal Technique:]
Somebody talked sh** to me in L.A. and never lived
Cause brown roll deeper than red or blue ever did
I got bullets that'll rip through your ribs
More painful than watching R. Kelly piss on your kids
Here's the ultimatum mothaf**a
Give me that a** cap
Or give America Biggie and 2Pac flashbacks
Some n***as don't think the Underground is grimy and dirty
'Til they find your body on a f**ing highway in Jersey
I fire rockets at generic topics
Your lyrics don't hold weight
Like two-dimensional objects
Cause jail culture didn't give you that fitted hat
To memorize a ghostwritten sh** verse and spit it back
I won't let your wack rhymes redefine lyricism
For a whole generation with their fathers in prison
You live inside the image of an Era that's gone
Like government officials trying to justify Vietnam
I'll leave n***as traumatized like they momma died
And they was responsible for the driveby homicide
And I don't market revolution, I live it
What you think cause you fake everyone else is a gimmick
Jealous bickering, industry slaves, the nerve of you
Like a child prostitute born into a life of servitude
Until we murder you making the red carpet burgundy
The Psycho Realm and the streets were I prefer to be
[Chorus]