[Verse 1: KXNG Crooked]
I'm killing off instrumentals in my leisure
For me, it’s easy to be elite
Not only do I hear it, got synesthesia, I see the beat
Let the speaker speak, I'm the syllable Makaveli
I'm winning like the cat with the fattest belly I don’t even see the feet
Black Revolution, huh?
How can the master emancipate Mansa Musa, the handsome rap executioner?
Fuck these rap executives
Let's grab techs and shoot-'em-up, for the rap checks
These crackheads will have sex with Lucifer
This rap shit has been a joke
I just put it in a chokehold til it pass out, then I mash out like the posse
With cash in my envelope
Straps in my winter coat
Imagine somebody killing your family
You getting revenge by slashing their killer's throat
My passions identical to that
When I'm rapping, when it comes to spazzin' I been the GOAT
Hit the track with the illest flow, still eatin' goat stew, body baggin the GOATs too, no lie
You polygraphing the wrong dude
So true, me and Roc probably smacking your whole crew
Shooting for the stars I'm autographing your dome too
When I’m in the booth spitting, it’s a privilege to witness it
Like seeing Moses sitting with his Ethiopian wife, writing the sentences of Genesis
Poetry filled with religious images
This is quintessential penmanship
This is it
No more talking
When death come for you, it's six coffins for your top five
I left one for you
[Verse 2: Sa-Roc]
I came into this thing with a pipe dream and crude sense of the grind
Now my tongue slicker than black ice, flow is refined
No amount of dough can replace the sweet thrill of my climb
And I still ain’t reached to my peak, my worth too steep to define
Roc on a rampage, and no, I ain't talking Dwayne
I'm terrorizing all of the hypebeasts til I'm the only monster remaining
Rap chupacabra, I might be just too macabre for the plains
I’m used to stalking and killing beats, leave it putrefied and unclaimed
But now I'm more compassionate when I take a stab at these Cliffs Notes
Don't even let the ink dry, 'fore I lay em to rest with the swift stroke
Born with the face of an angel, vocal arrangements like I'm Mephisto
Stick em with three of my deadliest litanies set to a melody, call it a pitchfork
My melanin stain allows me to dwell in the flames
Like Osiris, my papyrus made me underworld king
I keep a chalice full of hibiscus like blood in my veins
Y'all know my body, I'm goddess
Ain't fucking with none of my gang
Ain't tucking in none of my chains, here's hoping they took it well
My future golden y'all obsolete like tokens in Brooklyn rail
Holy book of Sa-Roc got the globe pushing my tale
Depicted on the walls of Giza with the Sol, Crook, and the flail
That's pharaoh talk, heroes descended from feral stock
So I go wild and bullet point my bio 'til the barrels shot
They say my era wack, lil bruh, I'm a rap native like Arawak
My command of this cadence, make em yessir me like Arafat
I intersect at Clarence X and Assata Shakur
Premiere at the Met in a gown with two straps and call it couture
Meditate with a stick of copal on how the best of DC and SoCal meet
On the track and seize your most active fans with no probable cause
See I been trying to make it clear that I'm rap G-O-D
Ringing in the new year with power circles only, C-O-B
I'm out to scorch the earth habitually
Torching verses til my authored onslaughts drop the opposition to one knee