Natural Elements - “N.E. Season”
[Emcee(s): L-Swift, Mr. Voodoo, and A-Butta]
[Producer(s): Sebb]

[Intro: L-Swift]
Yeah, huh, uh huh. It’s NE Season, bwoy! We’ve been on a little vacation. We just landed, you know? Yo

[Verse 1: L-Swift]
45, no number could run at you worse. I’m
So high—no wonder I’m fucking a bird. I’m
So fly, flow vulture, I’ll rummage the Earth. I’m
So live, more coming as rushing a surge and
Low tides. I sit on a beach and wait ‘til it rise
I get on my feet and take it in stride, I shit on a freak
I’m making her cry. My dick on her cheek, I piss in
Her eyes. I’m sick of the speech, I’m hating the lies
Should I go on further? I need to call the defendant. See, if
The song is a murder, I’m leaving all the forensics
We could ball for the pendant ‘cause only champions celebrate, plus
Most of them camp in the Everglades, what? Toast in
My hand ‘til it bred/bread the cake, bake you a loaf
Through the land, you could tread, the weight make you afloat
Through the sand, you could get to the base, straight to the coast
Use a plan, choose the Element way, stay in a boat, motherfucker

[Interlude: Mr. Voodoo]
Yeah, yeah, yo, L, that was dope, but I’m about to get into it like this. Check it out. Yeah, yeah, yeah

[Verse 2: Mr. Voodoo]
Microphone
Hogger, Scarface side, the culture bomber, Nica-
-ragua to a Brooklyn kitchen, boiling bricks and agua, fuck with
Hoes and divas, low leaders that hold heaters
Blast and make your blood flow in liters, lay in the cut
Like Sandinistas, block your interest like Federales
The man in visas with criminal plans and thesis. Y’all n***as
Can’t see us. With gats, we’re like sheist killers, we max
Even dykes feel us. With stacks, we’re like Christ killers, we’re crafty
Like trife dealers, carry flame, wetting
Face up, married to the game, bake a wedding up, drop more
Gems than Jacob, nines double-m pop, leave you
Blazed up from the shoelace or calling jakes up and white-chalked
Get traced up. Any crew dare us too careless
Any crew feel us Unbreakable like Bruce Willis
Voo the realest, cats are soft, I’m a symbol of terror
To America like Taliban with Kalashnikovs

[Verse 3: A-Butta]
Y’all could call me El
Diablo or El Mariachi of Rap, who’s
Tatted up like the cap from Memento. Un momento
Mami, let me pencil you into my schedule
‘Cause it’s NE Season and we’re due some revenue
I gleams in the face of my adversaries, on my waist
Is a capillary decomposer, had these rap folks
Screaming like clones of Zach De La Rocha
React with no soda with gats with no holsters
Blast for my cronies, mash with my codies
It’s NE Season. Is there any reason that you
Can’t comprehend what I’m speaking? I’m conquering your allegiance
Confident as a preacher who’s Godsent from a demon
Prosperous Puerto Rican, hot to the point that I’m steaming
Got me a joint with some weed in it. I’m devious
And equipped to spit an ingenious sixteen for kids
Quit dreaming, man. It’s NE Season—take this