From the Creation

[Verse 1: Fashawn]

Look in the mirror: are you a reflection or an image?

A person or a persona, real thing or a gimmick?

I hate when rappers get on the mic and act timid

They must have never came in contact with a menace

In the lab with the 'Chemist, loading up ammunition

In my path for the listeners, fans, and the critics

Niggas out getting it, trying to advance to a million

And trying to their fam in positions

Where they ain't gotta rap, shoot hoops or pitch grams for a living

10 G's to a hundred grand, keep it consistent

The exact definition of a man on a mission

To take over the land, expand demolition

Wonder how many syllables I can cram in this sentence?

Like a general I command your attention

I be killing 'em, every stanza is venom

In my B-boy stance, can't help but glance at a nigga

[Verse 2: The Alchemist]

So in the summer I'm getting dumber

Doing my digits, doing my numbers

Rappers are similar, six are 1, half-a-dozen are the other

I'm custom cut control, rock a windsuit and some Timberlands

Touch the floor and guard my space, 'til they carve my face

In the side of a mountain like Rushmore

I'm prophetic, doctor the drums with a medic

Could end up like I'm fresher than lettuce and get shredded

I'm ready, yo, I'll stand next to the sprinkler without getting wetted

Don't step in my circle, no doubt, get deaded

Serve 'em no cut like video footage without the edit

Emperor, thinking, "What the fuck I need a pencil for

When I could scrape the corners without a Desert?"

I'm a criminal into vandalism

Whoever want attention, stomp 'em out and whoever's standing with 'em

[Verse 3: Roc C]

I'm the line-deliverer, used to be sinister

Six shots in the Glock, pop at your Senator

Tend to be nice, put a price on my own life

Then I thought about: better off killing myself

I'm the, rhyme-ratcher, gun packer

I'll bitch smack a nigga up then laugh after

Cold cash or back to dirty braids, back to crime pays

Back on my parkay, buddy or entrée

I'm the Bombay, general strikes

John Forté, moonwalk in on the court date, the boy's late

Puff puff pass to another date

Clock stopped tickin' now, guess that's my fate

Hold weight, fornicator skate out the front door

Been smoking so long, I know I'll never overdose

Still petrol, me, I'm not

Tie 'em up, leave a note at your spot, like we need that

[Verse 4: Oh No]

In the symphony, orchestrated, of course they hate it

The forces foreign, dangerous flow, painting a picture

Off rhythmic movement, move with music

Moods is muses, dumbfound stupid nuisance

New shit, hang 'em like nooses 'til their brain part

Their nucleus, I'm nuke 'em and show 'em we do this

Got no, foolish focus, I pray for my foes

Folks posted unnoticed, near when the twin's bolstered

I get toasted and toasted bottles of Moët

Then pour it out for my old set

Gangrene, that's a threat on the globe

Verbal tech, technicians, herbal vet load the ammunition

Made them kill the ambition with this man's wisdom

Then gas and match in the brain, more enlighten 'em

Pay attention or played attention

Y'all lame, y'all rather play in the Pain Olympics, uh...