El-P - Iron Galaxy lyrics

[Intro] "I feel like everybody wants something from me." "Yeah tell me about it. It's a cold world out there. Sometimes I think I'm getting a little frosty myself." [Hook] My shell, mechanical found ghost But my ghetto is animal found toast [Verse 1: Vordul Mega] Life's ill, sometimes life might k** Vordul Mega, five digits grab mics, mic strike type ill Is life real? Yo ock he builds When life feels like Earth don't spin, whirlwinds might blend Life's at a standstill, dangerous cause man k**s And still cats visualize life ghetto like One mind, sometime these cats see life Street life in complete light and be like I'm a live life after this one crime One line from the Megalah blow spines Everyone knows the city's ill, cats k** Still black man holds nine, Gotta chill star C-A.L.L.A.H Be the light of Shamar, work hard Shamar C-Cipher-A.L.L.A.H Adapt bars snatch stars and detach large channels But our bar's handle might, break mics Vordul Megalah the cannibal ate mics Strive, live live f** five, I want a hundred and eight mics [Vast Aire] Son, yo son did you see that kid yo? Yo, yo, Chill out man, chill out Yo son did you, yo son he pulled it out..." [Verse 2: Vordul Mega] Five digits co*k biddy nine milli One floor shot silly, spun city one verse hit milly Little girls spinning curls three sixty, living in a world sh**ty Yo they spun young earth, now sh**ty NY 5-0 might shoot black head n***a sorry I sold space suit to crack head DTs operate mechanically, po-po in slow-mo Black kids locked away, add a key Plus one fourth pound of smoke flow While lock head Fabian, Ahmed Arabian, laying in Bodeg holding drama AK, spoke like as-salaam-a OK Choking vodka mixed with OJ Wig splits mad quick Spinning three six O wave, C4 blew the door Number eight, Summer face tank top with a knot Number nine said run the place Took my girl stereo, CD, plus the tape Look star, don't wet that, f**ed her face lets stuff the place Jet back to Santa Cruz, Californ-i-a Peace to C-God locked up, cat born nine ways Come home mad soon, live ill, life phases Like little black girl got shot Damn it hurts when they spun earth filled with knots Gonna make a difference so we get locked Caught in the sh** and losing what we got Come on black equals, equals "Do you know that you're one of the few predator species That preys even on itself?" [Verse 3: Vast Aire] (And if there's crack in a basement) Crack heads stand adjacent Anger displacement from food stamp arrangements You were a still born baby, mother didn't want you But you were still born Boy meets world, of course his pops is gone, what you figure That chalky outline on the ground is a father figure? So he steps to the next stencil, that's a hustler Infested with money and diamond cluster Lets talk in laymen terms Rotten apples and big worms, early birds and poachers New York is evil at its core, so those who have more than them Prepare to be victims Ate up by vultures, the politicians In a dog eat dog culture, that'll sick 'em Lack of mineral, we take it personal A pigeon can't drop sh** if it never flew Every day is no frills, empty krills Broken 40 bottles and MCs with sk**s I rest my head on 115 But miracles only happen on 34th, so I guess life is mean And d**h is the median And purgatory is the mode that we settle in (no doubt) I've got that Eve's Bayou sense of touch So I fought, to touch every hand of a fan to read their thoughts Battered wives, molested children Roaches on the floor, rats in the ceiling Cats walk around New York with two fillings One is in their mouth, the other does the k**ing I'm Vast Aire, Kramer, top billing (Yo rest in peace to Big L, 139)