Diabolic - In Common lyrics

[Intro: Diabolic] Yo, get the f** back! You got a liar and a thief combined with a beast from the east. What the f** you think's gonna happen? Canibus, let em' know! [Hook: Canibus and Diabolic] (x4) Canibus and Diabolic get busy when we rhymin' And that's what we got in common [Verse 1: Canibus] Yo, yo, yo I know how far this could go But I'm not willing to go far, as long as you know I'd rather dump you off of the speed-boat Your trench coat float while you bleed slow—you already know I check my P.O. Box with a robot I got a ammo can in the corner full of old Glocks Aight, breathe. Adjust to the beat Adjust to the speed of Canibus, the MC The library of binary. Words I rhyme surprise many But few realize, if any You navigate through a constellation of bars If it does not madden, you will be a god If it does not sadden, then you will be awed But they are on their way to capture you, so be on your guard The world I live in is different from the world you been in But I stay committed and still spit it The microphone is a psychotic object Those who don't spit hot sh** will get shocked and drop it I'll be there in the morning to collect your belongings If I have to knock more than once, you'll be sorry The door sign reads: enter or die That's when I wrote the hundred-thousand bar rhyme So ask Canibus. He ain't understanding this Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans ain't sh** And ninety-nine percent of his fans didn't think That ninety-nine percent of the planet can't spit But Diabolic 'bout to show you how we handle this Diabolic and Canibus—sample this [Hook: Canibus and Diabolic] (x4) Canibus and Diabolic get busy when we rhymin' And that's what we got in common [Verse 2: Diabolic] Yo, ladies rock your body while 'Bolic co*ks a shottie And pops these prima donnas posing for the paparazzi If not, I'll prolly hop inside a stolen Maserati Goin' kamikaze like a pilot sent from Nagasaki That's why doctors got me on some anti-psychotics My logic's "If I die, 'Bolic's sales sky-rocket" This high-wattage made corpses rise from pine boxes With the fire in their eye sockets like they Cyclops's By God, this man lost his damn mind and Buried his head in the sand to plant some landmines I worry the feds had planned to scan our land lines Instead, mankind embrace f*gs who can't rhyme So for the last time, I refuse to rap—it's worthless 'Til I land a better deal than the Louisiana Purchase My purpose is to scratch the surface 'til a crack emerges Afterwards it's stuffin' b**hes like a taxidermist And I'm glad my s**m is drippin' through your b**hes panties 'Til she barefoot and pregnant, sifting through my kitchen pantry My daughter's nine. Dad's living like a vigilante Kiss the family, huntin' pedophiles trickin' kids with candy In other words, those who dare touch what he treasures Sleep better than Heath Ledger beneath a dream catcher So I suggest you pray the G-O-D bless ya' Like a good m**m on his knees facing east Mecca