(feat. PsychoRealm, Sick Symphonies)
[Immortal Technique]

Somebody talk shit to me in L.A., would never live

Cause brown rolls deeper than red or blue, ever did

I got bullets that'll rip through yo' ribs

More painful than watchin R. Kelly piss on yo' kids

Here's the ultimatum motherfucker, give me the ASCAP

Or give America Biggie and 2Pac flashbacks

Some niggaz don't think the underground is grimy and dirty

'til they find your body on a fuckin 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 shit verse and spit it back

I won't let your wack rhymes redefine lyricism

For a whole generation with they fathers in prison

You live inside the image of an era that's gone

Like government officials tryin to justify Vietnam

I leave niggaz traumatized, like they momma died

And they was responsible for the drive-by 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, makin the red carpet burgundy

With PsychoRealm in the streets where I prefer to be



[Chorus: Immortal Technique]

Hollywood drive-by, motherfuckin murder-fest

Weed clouds in the air, that cause turbulence

Revolucion, motherfucker you heard of it

I light the spliff with the flag, while I'm burnin it

Hollywood drive-by, sprayin the cucarachas

War with the system like the streets of Oaxaca

Yeah, revolucion, motherfucker you scared of it?

Well it's comin to the industry now, so be prepared for it



[PsychoRealm]

You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full-clip raps

While most of these gangsta rappers are some full-fledged rats

You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full [scratches]

You're on some bull {*scratches*} you're on some bull [scratches]



You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full-clip raps

While most of these gangsta rappers are some full-fledged rats

The real G's stay strapped in full combat

What you see in the videos is full-on acts

The streets don't believe you homie

Armageddon in the rap game is comin and we lead the army

Rock tear a tape out of yo' sounds

Got hostages in pink, this is what they call hip-hop now?

I keep that metro shit out of my whip

Man that dummy rap is through makin money, it's about to extinct

You know the radio tryin to kill rap with that shit

The only thing dyin is the DJ's when the K spit

We're here to CEO's, and blow up A&R's

I'm takin your chips like crashing your game of cards

This is how I eat holmes, I would give you buzz

And take the life of these stars for this thing of ours



[Chorus]



[Sick Symphonies]

Yeah, uhh

I'm from the city of falling stars, the home of banging hard

Waiting for them at the Radio City Hall to snatch 'em out their fucking cars

Expose 'em for what they are - NARCs, jakes, snake informants

Feeding us horse shit, blaze up all of them

They say hip-hop doesn't exist

Rappers talking hard dressed up like punk rock kids

Pumped up by some corporate endorsement, dead corpses are voiceless

No one hears ya homie, ya little fame is over

We'll send little homies foreclosure

like bankers, cause you owe us the mortgage

For exploiting the lifestyle that many died, jailed up in storage

Leaving most of us hopeless, homies radio focused

What we're building got 'em all afraid

Give me the K, I'll be honored to ignite the flame

that'll, burn down the game, what's fame? Keep it

A movement, a sonic war, motherfucker you sleepin



[Chorus]