[Proximo]
So, after five years of scratching a living in flea infested villages, we're finally going back to where we belong. The colosseum. *Inhales* Oh, you should see the colosseum, Spaniard. Fifty-thousand romans; watching. every movement of your sword. Willing you to make that k**er blow. The silence before you strike. And the noise afterwards. It rises, it rise up like – a storm. As if you were the Thunder God, himself
[Maximus] You were a gladiator?
[Proximo] Yes, I was..
[TyRaiD]
Slago, what up?
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2)
Gotta n***a feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can't stop me. No, ya can't stop me!”
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2)
Gotta n***a feelin' like J League in they prime, n***a!
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes!
Yo, disrespecters get dissected and severed apart/
Separate sections buried in several spots/
I'm thirty minutes into seven o'clock/
Terminal with the text, I'm surgical with the sentence, where the hell is my medical garb?! /
Earning frequent flyer rapid rewards/
Playin' connect the dot with the map, rappin on tours/
The Arizona a**a**in brandishin' swords/
Your patterns bore me, more annoying than that black chick who sang for Sanderson Ford/
Your lines bogus, lyin' bout ridin' Porsches/
Self-entitled nonsense, get off your high horses/
Or I'll dismount you coons/
I'll crash through windows, grab you, make us do a somersault, and throw you out the room/
You stupid ba*tards and beyond raw/
I run up on unsuspecting rappers, hara**in' them like the Nardwuar/
RoQ's the Incredible Hulk in your concert speakers/
Fieldgoalin' Volkswagen Beetles, flingin' parking meters/
Eatin' weak emcees with Chianti and Farver Beans/
I hate you n***as like my mama's Paula Deen/
I scoff at your exhausted dreams/
Presenting intellectual art for this garbage scene, for listening to these bars, I should charge a fee/
I'll make a k**ing in the game, like Aaron Hernandez/
I wrote this lyric in my brain while preparing a sandwich/
Every parable's savage, veritable cla**ic/
You squares better stay in your lane for a fairer advantage/
Instead of kissing bu*ts over customer service/
This suburban brotha hustles like corrupt ushers in southern churches/
‘Til my buzz is perfect. Derek Fish in the clutch/
Too many lames around the table, that's Dinner With Schmucks/
I laugh at these clowns, pa** your bag and piece out/
Or I'll dispatch of thee, Japanese Samurai style, you ain't “active” you're Action League Now/
The rebirth of thee herb/
M.O.B. t-shirts, skinny jean squeezers, pretending to be nerds/
You better do your research, or you'll be desert/
You critics eat dirt, like Roger Ebert, you obsolete jerk/
Throw pedals on my feet, like I'm parading through Ancient Rome/
Greet me with a mini-me Khaleesi from the Game of Thrones/
It's safe to say, I made my bones/
Me and my age bracket brought dope a** rappin' back from the endangered zone/
What you n***as listenin' to is the changin of guards/
Eighties babies, nineties kids, the head of the table is ours/
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2)
Gotta n***a feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can't stop me. No, ya can't stop me!”
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2)
Gotta n***a feelin' like J League in they prime, n***a!
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes!
[Proximo]
I wasn't the best because I k**ed quickly. I was the best because the crowd loved me. Win the crowd and you'll win your freedom
[Maximus]
I will give them something they have never seen before
[TyRaiD]
For this whole duration, you're my slaves. No escapin' the fathoms of my imagination/
I'm to cyphers what Manhattan is to Patrick Bateman/
When it comes to rhymin', I am vengeful/
Disembowel rappers, throw they sacrificial a**es down the stairs of Mayan Temples/
My British fans like “man, you're mental. You're whole project is monumental/
You're the type of artist that has potential” /
My socket's loose, I'm Doctor Doom, shockin' you pompous coons/
Drop the mic and grip a mop and broom, you've not improved/
Your concert's full of constant “BOO!” s/
Everybody wants to leave, like when Chris Bosh's in a locker room/
Ominous plots for depositin' guap/
Generic tats, saggin' women's pants, you look like Androgynous Pac/
Who you slain raw, hustlin' trees/
You grew up playing pogs, watchin' My Brother and Me/
You see, I don't believe in leisure, I've got a comfortable lead/
It's R-O-Q-Y, T-Y-R-A-I-D! One more time/
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2)
Gotta n***a feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can't stop me. No, ya can't stop me!”
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes! (x2)
Gotta n***a feelin' like J League in they prime, n***a!
Give me dope beats, dope mothaf**in' rhymes!
[Proximo]
So, Spaniard, we shall go to Rome together and have bloody adventures! And the great who*e will s**le us until we are fat and hungry, and can s**le no more. And then, when enough men have died – perhaps you will have your freedom