[Immortal Technique:]
Somebody talked %#@! to me in L.A. and never lived
Cause brown roll deeper than red or blue ever did

I got bullets that'll rip through your ribs
More painful than watching R. Kelly piss on your kids
Here's the ultimatum motha$#&@a

Give me that $$# cap
Or give America Biggie and Tupac flashbacks
Some ^!$$%z don't think the Underground is grimy and dirty

'Til they find your body on a $#&@ing 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 %#@! verse and spit it back

I won't let your wack rhymes redefine lyricism
For a whole generation with their fathers in prison
You live inside the image of an Era that's gone

Like government officials trying to justify Vietnam
I'll leave ^!$$%z traumatized like they momma died
And they was responsible for the driveby 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 making the red carpet burgundy
The Psycho Realm and the streets were I prefer to be


[Chorus]