[Immortal Technique] Somebody talk shit to me in L.A., would never live Cause brown rolls deeper than red or blue, ever did I got bullets that'll rip through yo' ribs More painful than watchin R. Kelly piss on yo' kids Here's the ultimatum motherfucker, give me the ASCAP Or give America Biggie and 2Pac flashbacks Some niggaz don't think the underground is grimy and dirty 'til they find your body on a fuckin highway in Jersey I fire rockets at generic topics Your lyrics don't hold weight, like two-dimensional objects Cause jail culture didn't give you that fitted hat to memorize a ghostwritten shit verse and spit it back I won't let your wack rhymes redefine lyricism For a whole generation with they fathers in prison You live inside the image of an era that's gone Like government officials tryin to justify Vietnam I leave niggaz traumatized, like they momma died And they was responsible for the drive-by homicide And I don't market revolution, I live it What you think cause you fake everyone else is a gimmick? Jealous bickering, industry slaves, the nerve of you Like a child prostitute born into a life of servitude Until we murder you, makin the red carpet burgundy With PsychoRealm in the streets where I prefer to be
[Chorus: Immortal Technique] Hollywood drive-by, motherfuckin murder-fest Weed clouds in the air, that cause turbulence Revolucin, motherfucker you heard of it I light the spliff with the flag, while I'm burnin it Hollywood drive-by, sprayin the cucarachas War with the system like the streets of Oaxaca Yeah, revolucin, motherfucker you scared of it? Well it's comin to the industry now, so be prepared for it
[PsychoRealm] You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full-clip raps While most of these gangsta rappers are some full-fledged rats You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full {*scratches*} You're on some bull {*scratches*} you're on some bull {*scratches*}
You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full-clip raps While most of these gangsta rappers are some full-fledged rats The real G's stay strapped in full combat What you see in the videos is full-on acts The streets don't believe you homie Armageddon in the rap game is comin and we lead the army Rock tear a tape out of yo' sounds Got hostages in pink, this is what they call hip-hop now? I keep that metro shit out of my whip Man that dummy rap is through makin money, it's about to extinct You know the radio tryin to kill rap with that shit The only thing dyin is the DJ's when the K spit We're here to CEO's, and blow up A&R's I'm takin your chips like crashing your game of cards This is how I eat holmes, I would give you buzz And take the life of these stars for this thing of ours
[Chorus]
[Sick Symphonies] Yeah, uhh I'm from the city of falling stars, the home of banging hard Waiting for them at the Radio City Hall to snatch 'em out their fucking cars Expose 'em for what they are - NARCs, jakes, snake informants Feeding us horse shit, blaze up all of them They say hip-hop doesn't exist Rappers talking hard dressed up like punk rock kids Pumped up by some corporate endorsement, dead corpses are voiceless No one hears ya homie, ya little fame is over We'll send little homies foreclosure like bankers, cause you owe us the mortgage For exploiting the lifestyle that many died, jailed up in storage Leaving most of us hopeless, homies radio focused What we're building got 'em all afraid Give me the K, I'll be honored to ignite the flame that'll, burn down the game, what's fame? Keep it A movement, a sonic war, motherfucker you sleepin
Other lyrics by Immortal Technique F/ Psychorealm, Sick Symphonies
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Copy to Clipboard: [Immortal Technique] Somebody talk shit to me in L.A., would never live Cause brown rolls deeper than red or blue, ever did I got bullets that'll rip through yo' ribs More painful than watchin R. Kelly piss on yo' kids Here's the ultimatum motherfucker, give me the ASCAP Or give America Biggie and 2Pac flashbacks Some niggaz don't think the underground is grimy and dirty 'til they find your body on a fuckin highway in Jersey I fire rockets at generic topics Your lyrics don't hold weight, like two-dimensional objects Cause jail culture didn't give you that fitted hat to memorize a ghostwritten shit verse and spit it back I won't let your wack rhymes redefine lyricism For a whole generation with they fathers in prison You live inside the image of an era that's gone Like government officials tryin to justify Vietnam I leave niggaz traumatized, like they momma died And they was responsible for the drive-by homicide And I don't market revolution, I live it What you think cause you fake everyone else is a gimmick? Jealous bickering, industry slaves, the nerve of you Like a child prostitute born into a life of servitude Until we murder you, makin the red carpet burgundy With PsychoRealm in the streets where I prefer to be
[Chorus: Immortal Technique] Hollywood drive-by, motherfuckin murder-fest Weed clouds in the air, that cause turbulence Revolucin, motherfucker you heard of it I light the spliff with the flag, while I'm burnin it Hollywood drive-by, sprayin the cucarachas War with the system like the streets of Oaxaca Yeah, revolucin, motherfucker you scared of it? Well it's comin to the industry now, so be prepared for it
[PsychoRealm] You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full-clip raps While most of these gangsta rappers are some full-fledged rats You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full {*scratches*} You're on some bull {*scratches*} you're on some bull {*scratches*}
You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full-clip raps While most of these gangsta rappers are some full-fledged rats The real G's stay strapped in full combat What you see in the videos is full-on acts The streets don't believe you homie Armageddon in the rap game is comin and we lead the army Rock tear a tape out of yo' sounds Got hostages in pink, this is what they call hip-hop now? I keep that metro shit out of my whip Man that dummy rap is through makin money, it's about to extinct You know the radio tryin to kill rap with that shit The only thing dyin is the DJ's when the K spit We're here to CEO's, and blow up A&R's I'm takin your chips like crashing your game of cards This is how I eat holmes, I would give you buzz And take the life of these stars for this thing of ours
[Chorus]
[Sick Symphonies] Yeah, uhh I'm from the city of falling stars, the home of banging hard Waiting for them at the Radio City Hall to snatch 'em out their fucking cars Expose 'em for what they are - NARCs, jakes, snake informants Feeding us horse shit, blaze up all of them They say hip-hop doesn't exist Rappers talking hard dressed up like punk rock kids Pumped up by some corporate endorsement, dead corpses are voiceless No one hears ya homie, ya little fame is over We'll send little homies foreclosure like bankers, cause you owe us the mortgage For exploiting the lifestyle that many died, jailed up in storage Leaving most of us hopeless, homies radio focused What we're building got 'em all afraid Give me the K, I'll be honored to ignite the flame that'll, burn down the game, what's fame? Keep it A movement, a sonic war, motherfucker you sleepin
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