Immortal Technique - What Hip Hop Is lyrics

Yo You're not as cold as me, motherf**er, stop pretendin' I'll murder you in front of your crib like John Lennon Rip the tendons outta your muscle to cut the tension I'm beyond your comprehension Like related subatomic particles in fifth dimensions Suspension in your breathing is what I'm leaving Until a legion of demons whisper the meaning of life in ya ear Right before they make ya motherf**ing life disappear But just because you hear the multi-syllabic gramatical Don't compare me to rappers that are on sabbatical Cause I never did business in Little f**ing Italy I play checkers on triple-decker buses in Tripoli The way that you typically bicker with me, inexplicably Is a mystery that pisses me off ridiculously Because I'm lyrically beyond your level, scientifically Specifically, spitting out the spic in me, prolifically Im the majority of America, futuristically After I die, f** my music, you'll feel me spiritually Darker than Sicily, rippin above the averages You hold no weight, like b**hes after miscarriages And your label produces no kids like gay marriages I'm disparaging every fake thug rapper in sight That's why your f*ggot a** will never make it into the light I'll crack your skull when I smash your face into the mic And now you know what I'm like I'll Suge Knight the industry I feel like the spirit of Nat Turner got into me You're infinitely hopless You sound like sh** when you spit live like Jennifer Lopez I'll ma**acre a rich rapper and all his broke friends And go to Club Cheetah, rockin' some blood-soaked Timbs Party-crashin' animal, f**in' model b**hes Leavin' their stick-figure anorexic p**y in stitches My verbal blitz will outshine your offense, you're watered-down nonsense And I'm 200-proof chockin' a local youth in his home-made vocal booth You're a f**ing incompetent k**er like Rae Carruth And I'm Technique, the rawest n***a ever produced I spit nastier than regurgitating period juice So burn your f**ing rhymebook, stay warm, and put it to good use I'm bout to drop like frozen airplane sh** through ya roof And I'm sick of fake hustlers telling lies to the youth You never robbed Dominicans And you couldn't sling rocks if you was Palestinian You broke motherf**er, you cats don't burn rubber You n***as can't even get a f**in' cab like Danny Glover You ain't hardcore, I'll smack the sh** outta your mother You wanna be gutter? I'll leave you laid out in the street Signed: Yours truly, the motherf**ing Immortal Technique