Immortal Technique - Industrial Revolution |
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Industrial Revolution
Immortal Technique Yeah nigga, Immortal Technique, metaphysics The blingI leave ya full of clipse like the moon blocking the sun my metaphors are dirty like herpes but harder to catch and now these parasites wanna prosenna my asscap like an escape tunnel in prison I started from scratch but here's a quotable for every single record exec trying to control perspective like an acid flashback get your fucking hands out my pocket nigga like Malcolm X and I'm not that type of cat, you can afford to miss if you shoot me but this ain't a movie, I'm not a fan or a groupie curse to heavens and laugh when the sky electrocutes me Immortal Technique stuck in your thoughts darkening dreams I leave ya to your own destruction like sparking a fiend no ones as good as good as me, they just got better marketing schemes cuz you got jealousy in ya voice like star scream and Reebok Pumps that didn't do shit for the sneaker I've been nice since niggaz got killed over 8and that's the primary reason that I hate ya faggots I'm a heatseaker with features that'll reach through the speaker and murder counter revolutionaries personally break a thermometer and force feed his kids mercury offered me a deal and a blanket full of small pocks ANR's tribe jerking me thinking they call shots your all getting shot, you little fucking tregerous bitches This is the business, and ya'll ain't getting nothing for free and if you devils play broke, then I'm taking your company you can call it reparations or restitution lock and load nigga, industrial revolution [Verse 2] like the Bush administration gave to the Taliban I want fifty three million dollars for my collar stand and fuck packing grams nigga, learn to speak and behave you wanna spend twenty years as a government slave two million people in prison keep the government paid i was made by revolution to speak to the masses stuck in a six block eight cell alive in the grave deep in the club toast the truth, reach for the classes I burn an orphanage just to bring heat to you bastards innocent deep in a casket, columbian fashion you motherfuckers will never get me to stop blastin' intoxicated of the flow like thugs passion your better off asking Ariel Sharon for compasion your better off battling cancer under telephone cabels your better off banging for twenty points for a label foretold by the dead sea scrolls written in codes Technique chemically unstable, set to explode so if your message ain't shit, fuck the records you sold cuz if you go platinum, it's got nothing to do with luck it just means that a million people are stupid as fuck stuck in the underground in general and rose to the limit Revolutionary Volume 2, murder the critics without distribution managers, a deal, or a gimmick and leave your fucking body rotten for the roaches and crickets |
