Lyrics
«Good night Idaho! You were great, we love you!»
«This last song, is for you!»
(Sean Price)
It’s Da Incredible amazing
Unbelievable, yet mad basic, you caught in a matrix
(David Blaine, Criss Angel the Mindfreak
I wave and bang, ya shit dangle, the mind leak
And ain’t a thing for the gang to bang heaters
I keep my hands clean, bitch, call me the gang leader)
Shit you can call me commander in chief, when chiefing that damn reefer
And have me thinking in another language I can’t teach ya
Writing rhymes when I’m around of ya mans sneakers
Have you appauled, saying it’s ya ghost or ya damn preacher, but look
(Lord have mercy, Jesus Price, P!)
I’m Sephlo Dollar, he’s just nice, huh!
(Listen, Hallelujah, holla back
Hollow points leave ya head just like that Sleepy Hollow cat
I will Amadu, in armored Starter cap
P, the ambiance of a homicidal maniac, P!)
«Asia, Africa, Tokyo, we love you!»
«Heltah Skeltah, baby, Ruck N fucking Roll»
(Sean Price)
There’s a method to this madness
First of all I’m anti wack shit
Second to flow, gon' do backflips, acrobatics
Roller coaster flow, rope-a-dope you hoes
Punchlines either open up or broke ya fucking nose
(Cosa Nostra flow, toasted from the shoulder holster blow, BONG!
Wet 'em dead a head a nigga let them niggas know)
I 'poke a nose' wit a icepick, fuck the 'Resort'
Resort to violence, and not them little fucking guitars
(Fucking with R) R-O (U, C) C (K) K, to ya face
(Insert the clip, pop and pray
This is not hip hop hooray
This is push rocks a block away from the spot, cuz it’s hot, ok?
Listen, Sean Price move belittle your squad
Like Omar, worse than Little Canard, muthafucka)
Huh, I ain’t no Jim Carrey Ridder, dog
But I carry a gem star, I will give it to ya
Split 'em in four, suckas
«Denmark, Amsterdarm, Oslo, we love you!»
«You fucking guys, rock, man, Ruck N fucking Roll»
«You were awesome, you guys have a great night»
(Sean Price)
Psycho, but like no, bitch ass niggas
Talking bout they such and such, but when I see 'em in the streets, what?
(You cannot rhyme, rhyme, you should not rhyme, rhyme
Your squad wack, contracts you should not sign
Curtis Jack' got clapped about nine times
Murdered cats wit a gat, you got nine lives
I got nine knives, I got ten macks
Mack 10's, clap them, where ya friends at?)
Hold on, if I said ya name, it’s probably not an attack
Probably not, but it’s probably a fact, probably
You probably wack, probably crack, probably is that yo shit
Rhyme wit raps, plus I can do that
Die to you fags, now you say that I’m gay bashing
Ain’t talking to them, I’m talking to you, when I scream faggots
You lame asses, gon' hate and bring glad to this
In more ways than one, ain’t that a bitch?
«Good night folks, it was great rocking with you guys»
«See Note and Frunkberg in the back of the merch table»
«We have T-Shirts, CDs, DVDs, distilled hot dog water, good night folks!»
