Godfather Don - “Status (Jazz Spastiks Remix)”
[Emcee(s): Godfather Don]
[Producer(s): Jazz Spastiks]

[Verse 1: Godfather Don]
Intense experiments provide intricate answers
Why I attack weakness like hip cancers
I sip lancers to drink the pain away quicker
My game stays slicker than all you gay trickers
I spray n***as like paint and ain’t illing
For the killing, I pack clips that spit in the millions
Fulfilling your needs like 1-900 numbers
Pretty when I talk shitty, now did he wonder?
Am I the true and living? No clues are given. Crews
Are getting waxed like wood floors and they be slipping
Ripping up mics like your ho on PMS, there’s
No reasoning for the treason and all the stress
The bleeding of the flesh is imperial for the serial
Killer iller than David Koresh. Waited
The best out, I’m nocturnal, I get ya
Like sweat, I’ll wet ya and left you like a specter
Just a trace of arsenic and old lace
The coroner can’t replace the holes in your fucking face
Chasing dreams like them kids from California
I’ma warn ya: I’m up on ya

[Hook: Godfather Don] (x2)
I’m in the mood to make moves and gain status
So let’s see which emcees be the baddest
I’m in the mood to get cash without the rocks
So let’s see all real G’s who don’t stop

[Verse 2: Godfather Don]
Peace to my nigs upon bids. I warn kids
Of my addiction to exterminate your fiction
Beherits inherit slugs when the ash of rhymes
Bashed upon the fist the gods like the wrath of Don
You’re nervous ‘cause my word hits, you’re in a cata-
-tonic, my raps are pondered like Percenters up in it
So when I follow the sinner, smoke beginners
The winter of your discontent’s where I meant to send ya
The ends accumulate like kids in papa dot, I drop
A lot like diuretics to rock your knot, I embed it
The subliminal from the criminal militia
Remove heads for the love of Jesus de Christa
The list of comp’ that got torched spans the ages
In my third life, I blazed and laid shame to sages
You don’t know me, I’m faceless, so take this
And puff one time for your mind and find traces
Of bodies battered and bruised, so cruise through the brew
Bloodshed and carnage results, so when I’m in the mood…

[Hook: Godfather Don] (x2)
I’m in the mood to make moves and gain status
So let’s see which emcees be the baddest
I’m in the mood to get cash without the rocks
So let’s see all real G’s who don’t stop

[Verse 3: Godfather Don]
You got the mark of Triple-Six, so I hit you quick
My script’ll rip any shit that your clip’ll flip
My lips’ll spit blades that cut, graze, and hurt no-names
Plain, insane, liable to go out like Kurt Cobain
I’ll lurk where shows playing, never show pain. Beneath the remains
I often see stains from games using propane
From putting fire under rappers’ asses, the master
Passes all herbs and nerds, I smash your glasses
Lethal intent from beefs, you’ve then since been deaded
Buried from the flurries of hot lead that was embedded
In swines’ noses. Fuck the days of wine and roses
Used to be my man, but check the threat my nine poses
My mind’s arose as I suppose it’s just the pressure
From hit squads gunning to get bods. Running, your shit’s hard
In the jungle of concrete, the Don peeps weak dreams
And break ‘em like pee streams—that’s my street scene
Mad depression got my dreads swarming the concession spot
You’re dead on ‘em. Now here’s the warning:

[Hook: Godfather Don] (x2)
I’m in the mood to make moves and gain status
So let’s see which emcees be the baddest
I’m in the mood to get cash without the rocks
So let’s see all real G’s who don’t stop