Текст: Lost Secret. Queens Hall Of Science. Sicilian Kombat.

(feat. Soul Kid Klik)

[Storm Da Ghetto Mutant:]
I be the Donna Corleona smokin' emcees like balona
Slingin' Provolna from New York to California
So-called rap capo's bang with dis you don't wanna
End up cold trauma - unrecognizable by your momma
I'm a five-alarma, my veins pump drama
I even flip shit on that revengeful bitch Karma
Rat bastard, I spit the deadliest linguini
I take it to the afterlife like Michael did Barzini
I send my regards to all you fuckin' traitors
Fuck sleeping with the fishes I'm a feed him to the gators
So now you know I'm holding the mic down style-Mafioso
The true black Sicilian who brought light to Palermo
La Cosa Nostra, yeah, This Thing is Ours
Storm, the Godmother of the 16 bars
Even Fam can end up like Fredo in the harbor
Violate Blood Honor, get biffed out by Donna!

[Archangel Metatron:]
Yo, I talk what matters crowned with the rings of Saturn
Those who opposed left with charred cadavers, ashes scattered
Lyrics speakin' with the geometric precision
Of the kemetians, preach the teachings
Of when Atlantis had beaches, you cannot defeat this
I speak the facts that leave fanatics beliefless
You cowards love hallucinatin', my Klik be Masons
Tower of Illumination, spiritual lighthouse
I'll guide a nation, Archangel Metatron
Go run to ya Reverend, or come and follow enochs ascension into the heavens
The weak should kneel command a fleet of Ezekial wheels in galactic battlefields
This is the manifesto, y'all emcees can bring ya best flows
But they'll never match the unmanifested flesh flows
That never even left my mental threshold
I scoff at your rhymin', I be hip hop's conquerin' lion

[Blakspik:]
As my mind elevates and travel through different time zones
I get theatric with verbal acrobatics
I stay with automatic clips cause my pen's hot
With words that generate the sounds that make your head knock
Hates can't see me, my light is UV-prone
And even in the dark I can see your weak spark
You thought I'd fold under pressure, sing the song of Blues?
But rose like Megatron with Powercubes
You want problems, I'll slap you in your 3rd dimension
Flow back in time, and kill you at your first conception
I ride a track like a biker on the Bruckner
Pop a wheelie, pass police and say 'fuck ya'
You wanna see me say my name three times in the mirror fam
J O the A to the Q I M, we got it poppin'
Soul Kid vets behind me, I'm standing on the square so suckers walk by me

[G-Clef Da Mad Komposa:]
What is the essence of a Soul Kid blessin'
Niggas got caught fessin', and ain't learned their lessons yet
Clowns get whacked on wack TV shows
But in real fuckin' life their fakeness really shows
You tried to gamble but you never been to Vegas
You fell right off, like Strictly Dago on a playlist
Rock bottom, so much for your big plans
Don't quit your dayjob, nigga, stock boy at Today's Man
You ain't a gangsta, your style is strictly gay though
You're real Paisans be eating cornbeef and potatoes
I brought you to the Wu, got you a meeting with Geffen
But your shit was so fresh, Wendy Goldstein was like "next! "
Real Sicilians don't be playing Cosa Nostra like it's an act
If I see you up in the Hurst you get smacked
You're transparent, don't front the role
Cause you can't be a Soul Kid if you got no Soul

[Infamous Mr. Savage:]
Yo, who be that I'll nigga creepin' through Palermo
You guessed and he's back and he's packin' a fuckin' inferno
Blaze niggas internal, I'm slick with it, forget it
For kicks I ride the hi-hat and snare, perform tricks with it
Yeah, I'm still nice, still rock rhymes
Still brawl with any one of ya'll, still pop spines, yeah
The Sleepy Hollow kid still spit that relentless shit
You thought because I hung up the Doc, I wasn't Infamous, nigga?
I'm a soldier, son, a veteran at battling
Spit it anywhere, even spat it at the Vatican
Spit at anyone, slayed the Pope cause he was challengin'
Stuck him for his Communion Wine, left the place staggerin'
Stop your chit-chatterin', your blabberin' will only succeed
To get me mad and make me splatter your battalion, homey
Like I said before, punk, you don't know me
Cause this man will wave a cannon that'll blam in your canoli

[Malik Kahaar Ali:]
The Verbal Alchemist, blast brain cannons at fraudulance
I slaughter shit with or without the quarter inch
Immortal sin, to step in booths I recorded in
Just the thought of them with a pen's an offering to torture them
Coffin' 'em with my flows like flying saucer-in'
Breathe, please somebody get this man some oxygen
I'm hydrogen, bombs are songs that mutilate men
I'm hard to kill like a Viagra up in the Vatican
I'm battlin' battalians, bones be shatterin
Gonna need the C.S.I. to read the blood splatter patterns
I'm arrogant with darts I spit like a javelin
I'm damagin' emcees that can't speak the Arabic
Small change three-dollar emcees is counterfit
From a studio A or B, or C your way out of it
On top of that, I'm young, black, gifted and talented
Cause I took the spirit of Weldon Irvine and channeled it, what?