[Verse 1: C-Rayz Walz]
Digital Bible rap prophecy revolves the Earth in pit stops
“Specialist” “On the Mic,” punch-in-the-face hip hop
You can’t bust back—I crack shells like weak pottery
Lobby the street—possibly done properly
Probably—populations ponder popularity
We’ll see. Erratically, I switch polarities
Navigate space through bars fantastically
The art of energy spark the symmetry, limit me
In rhythm speed, I bone beats to gift the seeds
Snakes suck my double-edged blade ‘til the venom scream
Faces of death, unheard verbs will kill and scream
Drop skills and beam my Millennium thing
Barcode fiends identify through UPCs
Scan your retina. [?] swole like [?]
Low pressure. Prose let us change cloak like Fletcher
Pass work through your sector, lie in a stretcher
Your army together, bring pressure while the streets get redder
(Streets get redder)

[Verse 2: L.I.F.E. Long]
Left, right steps forward march. My fleet takes it to streets
Early rise at a 6 AM wakeup call to the sound of clapped heat
All you see is open mustard bombs and smoke clouds linger through the air
Physiqued bandits run to their moms
Face covered, you can’t make out they descriptions
Everyone’s moving in the same patterns
All taking positions from [?] left painting the scriptures on papers dirt-red
From the spill of blood due to the previous battle night
Non-sight vision sees bodies dead
Enter the battlefield a day after walking victorious, face flush
With joy when my conquer with enemy allies got crushed
Some reveal the game cons us
We’re left to decay in septic clouds of dust
Fatal addiction, slept, and slave to lust
Secrets no longer hush, still silent
Tongues sweet, speaking violence
[Hook: Breez Evahflowin’] (x2)
Yo, these are the things that we least express
Release the stress (Shine) ‘til we see success
‘Til the most and the least is fed
Cock back, bust off at the beat ‘til the streets is red

[Verse 3: Wiz]
New York corner streets, where the borders meet
Late night, holding heat ‘til their organ beat
Shop riots, pistols and crackpipes
Now it’s that life
What’s worse?
To live 21 or never see 21st?
Picture me in a hearse
Deluxe casket, six in the earth
Turned to dust, ashes—nah
I’ll be ninety years old, still holding my spot
Still calling the shots
Life is still all to the God
Only in God
Bible, read pages
Life in three stages
Birth, grow up, and demise
I can see bitches by the look in his eyes
You’re not a crook but he tries
They done dug more work through Brooklyn at night
Now face your bullets. They real and deadly
They’ll kill your family
You feel your metty?
Leave it alone
You’ll be upstate with no more bitches to bone
Fam steady, [?] poem
Getting stabbed as you reach for the phone
[Verse 4: Breez Evahflowin’]
With my vocal demonstration, devastation follows
The elevation of tomorrow to Satan’s sorrow
Got to get up, get to taking ‘cause waiting’s hollow
Science sours, Pagans and powers
Seeds from the [virgin?] hour forsaking ours
And they allow us to express ourselves on wax
Burden with the murderous tax converted with facts
We attracted to stars—was Copernicus black?
Return to the sack, trying to get back in the womb
It’s like the whole world dust and pussy is the vacuum
Hell yeah, shorty, I’mma meet you in the bathroom
And bring your fucking high school teacher from the classroom
Don’t ask, “Whom or what set it?” Get it in your gut
The foot in n***as’ ass—now what better than they strut?
[And death, the day?] was before because of all y’all
Bullshit rappers, get ready for war!

[Hook: Breez Evahflowin’] (x2)
Yo, these are the things that we least express
Release the stress (Shine) ‘til we see success
‘Til the most and the least is fed
Cock back, bust off at the beat ‘til the streets is red

[Outro (Overlapped with Ad Libs of Hook): Breez Evahflowin’]
Uh. Uh. Blood-red. Wiz. What? Strongholding! What? Crystal Lake. Ha. Yeah. Come with me. Yeah. Strongholding!