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Immortal Technique
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Black Out Special
...I'm the majority of America futuristically After I die, fuck my music, you'll feel me spiritually Darker than Sicily ripping above the averages You hold no weight, like bitches after miscarriages And your labor produces no kids like gay marriages I'm disparaging every fake thug rapper in sight That's why your faggot ass will never make it into the light I'll crack your skull when I smash your face into the mic And now you know what I'm like I'll Suge Knight the industry, I feel like the spirit of Nat Turner got into me You're infinitely hopeless, you sound like shit when you spit live Like Jennifer Lopez, I'll massacre a rich rapper And all his broke friends, and go to Club Cheetah Rocking some blood-soaked Tims, party crashing, animal-fucking model bitches Leaving their stick-figure anorexic pussy in stitches My verbal blitzes have outshined your offence You're watered down nonsense, and I'm two-hundred proof Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Choking the local youth in this home-made vocal booth You're a fucking incompetent killer like Ray Carruth And I'm Technique, the rawest nigga ever produced I spit nastier than regurgitating period juice So burn your fucking rhyme book Stay warm, and put it to good use I'm about to drop like frozen airplane-shit through your roof And I'm sick of fake hustlers telling lies to the youth You never robbed Dominicans, and you couldn't sling rocks if you was Palestinian You broke motherfucker, you cats don't burn rubber You niggaz can't even get a fucking cab like Danny Glover You ain't hardcore, I'll smack the shit out of your mother You wanna be gutter? I'll leave you laid out in the street Signed yours truly, the motherfucking Immortal Technique.
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