I bring fear fierce tears like El's career speared ears
Meat machine - lean-cuisine rappers smeared on gears
I flow quicksand, Liquid earth, Drown a man in land
Dry every gland, the taste of my brand, Taste of Iran
Persia, Iran, shah for an eon
Crown brown Yo Samity Sam for his treason
Hip hop is garbage, Spitters missing they targets
Sitting pretty in markets wishing they had an audience
Obvious!
Ga** em up, ask for the candy stock
Swag talk, booty b**hes, hired help for crews
Ship em off to the mags for the hot chart reviews
Bring em' to me, I'll make your 10 croon winter blues
The cleanest cut of hip hop since bee-bop and weed dropped
Funky fresh seed pop make you groove till your knees stop
Then move a little more
The flow is so adored like the smile of the newborn birthed in a winter storm
Salud the barbarian
Youngest of the contrarians
Murderous humanitarian, vocals of proletariats
Iranian uranium banging inside my cranium
Radiating membrane be lighting up every stadium
Dr. Musical
Salud to the rescue - Ah!
High-minded, Highlighted scribbles in math binders
Rewind and feel the shine dripping from the speaker iron
Twisted metal hot from the kettle makes the speaker blind
My drum heats violent beats for vibrant streets
Cities, farms and suburbs
Rain, snow, shine or sleet
I weather the weather whether for worse or for better
Each letter can sweat a liter of blood from the effort
I'm putting into music, this is thread that I'm spooling
To keep you people warm in the night when you're snoozing
On the mic I turn horizons sweet into thunderstorms
Breathe in Reds, purples, blues where the sky is torn
Always straight original
Chemical syllables
Enriched and cultivated with the purest hip hop minerals
That still my targets citadel
And smith my arrows plentiful
See my feathers reding your head - so suitable
Short little bottle rocket taped to some C4
Playing with fire, twisting the wire, you'll see more
Fuel air gas blast ripping into air masks
Nothing left to breathe but body ash so breathe fast
Cheddar cheese, cake, green
Bottles, ice all little bling
Simple things given to simple men - Simpletons
Uncle toms soon to be Rodney kings
Ring tone rappers believing their own hype
They're repping it
Singing as they welcome it
They ain't fly but they winging it
Salud, I'm running my 8 mile as I'm building it
Are you feelin it?
Mr 5'5 on the umpteen can you see that I'm k**ing it?