[Hook: Cecil Otter]
Got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceilin'
And this axe that we're wieldin' will react
When we're feelin' that crack, attack, attack
And we're on on ya like like a Mack Truck
Your honor, we are that fucking filthy
[Verse 1: Sims]
It's 2000 and self destruct
Everybody yellin' that shit's all fucked
Yuck, never liked the construct of that square wheel
Like, like "money ain't real"
Wait... but that ain't real
Oh, oh, now I get it
We could take it all and split it, give it to the village
Doomtree villains, out for the killin' - huh, no kiddin'
Good man, but I went a bit bitter
When they took a little dinner up off my plate
High stakes - okay, I'll play
But it ain't your game, and it ain't your rules
And it ain't your world, and I brought my crew
We some dirty lippin', "fuck your rules" livin' ugly goons, haha
It's no kings - no way
You're so vain, you probably think it's 'boutcha
Well it is, and it ain't
And it ain't, but it is
I go so fuckin' nasty, no restraint
Well I get props, and I play it off
And I see them hot, but I fade 'em all
Hello, world, it's L.O.P
B.T.Z., keep the ring
Move out my way, let me do my thing
Lemme do my thing, I'mma do my thing
[Verse 2: Mike Mictlan]
Friction lock rivet
Goonish as all fuck
Prudent to all stunts
Provin' the laws of logarithm
Like the wag of a dog's tail, bark back (woof!)
Light the rag on your cocktail, spark that
Champ on that slang chop, chump on that chomp rap
Prob'ly a stomp sack - man, give me my prop back
Hold your tooth to my non dap, I ain't no Diddy boy
That Beni know we go scrimp dance
Dougie, don't stop that!
Senor F-R-R Z-Three-R-Zero
None other, who's kooler, hula-hoopin' through bank zeroes
Hewlett-Packin', loogie yackin' on Don Hero's
Bomb appearance, nights in Paris, raw dogging cross limos
Toss demos, snot rockets blow up the sub-labels
Long tables, callin' shots on a crowd potato
The slang mongrel, fanged tonsils, we slay goblins
Gay-ngly gay-ng violent, wrangling fake monsters
[Hook: Cecil Otter]
We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceilin'
And this axe that we're wieldin' will react
When we're feelin' that crack, attack, attack
And we're on ya like like a Mack Truck
Your honor, we are that fucking filthy
Got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceilin'
And this axe that we're wieldin' will react
When we're feelin' that crack, attack, attack
And we're on ya like like a Mack Truck
Your honor, we are that fucking filthy
[Verse 3: P.O.S.]
Ay, what's up? No kings
No love for your made up things
In the paint, but it ain't no game
On the wall with a little complaint - leave that stain
Weave through cities dodgin' rain
No thing but an open door
It's yours, no lie
But you've got to get dirty, man, fix your pride
We some "preach-em'-real"
"Reach-'em", "steal-'em-from-low-ideals" type dudes
With a stepped up set of skills
And an ick style so kill that wills update daily
No frills or pilled up babies
No posture phony, just rock solid
Un-fuck-with-able dropped knowledge
No love for the bull
Horns, give 'em
Thorns, get 'em in
Swarm, let 'em make friends with a storm
Buddy up, get close to the war
Insides out, no love for the boring
Naw, bored, and I bet the heart's off
And beatin' under hardwood flooring
Poor man's Poe
[Hook: Cecil Otter]
We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceilin'
And this axe that we're wieldin' will react
When we're feelin' that crack, attack, attack
And we're on ya like like a Mack Truck
Your honor, we are
