verse 1 (tom knocks):
i'm off the chart like bobby brown, dropping sounds
popping off at the mouth like a blunt full of cess seeds
let's lead the revolution & the resolution
but bring a little loot in from all the pay-per-view t.v.
i speak easy like the bootleg bars
& hit topics like a rocket, shooting for the stars
lost in a large sea of small fish
official like referees when i call shit
all fists to the ceilings if you're feeling what i'm spilling
is appealing & there's one in a million chance
you won't collapse & remember what we're building
& bounce back like sonar, & so far succeeded
rolling on like paraplegic when movement is needed
i stay heated like the tropic, kicking scripts like a prophet
hit the mic, then the market, while y'all just microscopic
i'm nice in the nights of open-mic getdowns
i buckle knees like church altars so you starters need to sit down
i kick rounds like shotguns & knock 'em out the box
everything spoken is dope enough to land your ass up in detox
a clean shot to the cranium, harder than titanium-steel
i shuffle rhymes all the time little buddy, whats the deal?
i bust heavy, flow like water through a broken levee...

verse 2 (icarus jones):
...and i step up in the function with my game face on
tricks laced in my sleeve like a rapping james bond
same song, different key, & i'll be spitting 'til i'm hoarse
holed up in a shack, tapping my raps out in morse code
so hold your horses back & call the cavalry
then take it down to the source to count up the casualties
& actually there's more left laying than standing
waving their hands, nodding, & not saying a damn thing
awe-stricken by jaws equipped for raw ripping
flipping topics off of the top because i'm not tripping
picking pockets clean of their lint from ten paces
& we'll turn a flock of emcees into a sea of grim faces
(on a daily basis) when union labor's in the building
better batten down the hatches & believe that it's the real thing
no drills, straight four-alarm blazes
now look at all these cats acting hard in their cages
wondering why they ain't getting nowhere
their whole lives passing by while they sit & they stare
and i could really care less if my vehicle's coasting
as long as i've got the momentum to keep it in motion
i'll be roasting rubber to get the rust out the gears,
leaving passer-bys pissed, picking dust out their ears
& traffic cops stopping, asking where the fire is at
& i'm like 'the only flames i've seen were behind the tires in back.'