It’s the Desert E’s toker, the ganj’ smoker
Not close to mediocre, the black cobra .9 loader
Damage your lungs, put you closer to Jehovah
Witness this outrage sharper than blades
I punish with my AKs to doctor your face
I ain’t tryna lose the buckle when I reach for the waist
‘What’s the problem?’ ain’t no thing to turn a human to waste
Stay in your place, or catch the bayonet in your face
Outer space with this method, Kevlaar chested
Return of the ‘Motherless Child’, mind infected
‘Tales from the Crypt’ like Russell Jones resurrected
Death wish stepkid, dirty as the septic

[Bronze Nazareth]
My cyclone poems fix the roof of the Superdome
You crash your plane in my building, just tryna get on
And it’s a vein, cold rain, write my words in propane
Keep the heat in store like the stoves in Maytag
Carry more blades than grass in your yard, grab your rake
I’m original, man on the take, burn to the shake
Roll then blow the soul of Pharoahs out the blood bank
The Wu-Fam armory, my beats got bodies
Known to roll you in the grave, with the tip of a shotty
Pasadena lobby, bullet holes from robbery, probably
Veins made of cobblestone, bitches go home wobbly
Capture life like photographs, double stuff hash
Pyramid serious grim, with the verbal whiplash
From the fetus to the oversear, I bleed it
Nigga, you’ll climb a crystal mountain, just to try to go see it
My life is a movie script, John Singleton reading
The blood flow like magma, hotter then traps of Eden
Send shockwaves like circles from objects dropped in lakes
I spray phrases, til the brain can’t operate
Discombobulate, the populate, Texas Chainsaw locker grip
Cardinal robes, Wu symbol conglomerate
My team will rather fall than be spit in the face
Jesus asked God when I’m dropping my next tape
Nigga, Bronze colored disc, razor blade shape

End endurance, niggas is wack when spitting raps
Get back to whatever y’all was doing before that
It ain’t working for you, no one’s even heard of you
Tried to get ya grams up, wound up with your hands up
I’m a bona-fide hustler, slash M.C.
The first on the stroll, and the last to leave
I ain’t rich, so the streets is my blueprint
And it just so happens, I can translate it in music
Roll a dutch as long as a pool stick
And make sure everybody down for this movement
Niggas is apple pies, soft as cool whip
And Detroit cats be the last niggas to fool with

[Kevlaar 7]
Throw a rose down inside my grave, massage my dead brain
With oils of the soil, inside the dirt I bathe
Unclaimed as a slave, with the heart of Virginia
I’m signed for light years, now it’s pitch black, my nigga
Fearing the legend, the reverend, predicted the cold night
Black ski mask, yo, I’m the cross in the sights
I climb the hill of the ill with a concrete sword
And rode my hood, joe, as the hero of the world

[Vast Aire]
Pass me the dutch, I’ll fill it up
I wrote this rhyme in the corner, like I was a dunce
If I, told ya twice, I told ya once
That’s word to the Trina’ man, that sold you fronts
You be number nine, I did not stutter
The sun is my dad, the moon is my mother
Look dude, there is no other
Like the Three Wisemen, that came from Persia
To bless Je-sus, peace to Baby Jesus
I’m becoming the Buddha, this is my thesis
I am the chosen; I’ve walked on water that wasn’t frozen
And you can talk shit, but look at your lip, now it’s busted
Sorta like burgundy, bubbling custard
I don’t wanna discuss it…
I’m on another level, come on, man, look at my mustard
That’s Grey Poupon, what planet you on?
You wanna take my oil, I’ll show you my rocket
You wanna take my chain, I’ll break ya eye socket
Kamikaze, you can’t stop this
Divine wind, I’m climbing
To reach, higher states, to drowning
Sitting on the same corner, frowning
This is L.X.G., microphone clowning

[Outro: Killah Priest (Salute the Kid)]
Yeah, what up, Michael Vangelo
My nigga Vast Aire., Cannibal Ox, The Wisemen (We here)
(Killah Priest), Kings Row Music, (K7, the bull Phillie
Illa dayz, Bronze Naz, Salute the muthafucking Kid
I told y’all niggas, Wisemen, we here, Kings Row, nigga)

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