back with your saddle axe SAS klack-klack-klack Bodies in a black bag Thinking about the punk rock shit like Black Flag Operation Ivy with the poison in the ink
ugh, ugh, Priesthood, uh huh, Royal Emperor In my time, ya know, my time, went through a lot of things Yo, yo, yo I write the realest, only my true niggas
is my apology These suckas they be tripping bout these bitches trynna body me (Los) I'm about to go over round my arm lean a way that I could feel it now tali round my
to hell 'cause I say this so well You can whistle my melody or noel You're still gonna get the Speak n Spell I get my ink from inkwell, my paper from
with me i'll put a hit on your ass i'll pay 5 of your boys from your hood to blast then smoke em and get my money back ese flip with my stacks ese all
street of the Sunset Marquis Autograph sign and pass wit a gold tip sharpee Permanent ink blots undrunk from velly poo scotts All you faggots try to judge my
sunset, soon as your love falls ooh ooh I love you Darker my love... Lock me on cut through the ink clips your words..cut through my pain, the starscream
And yo my neck upgraded, my wrist's upgraded I stay C of F, I ain't got time for Jacob I'm still on the strip, tryin to get my grims off Nigga tryin to
like a needle in a haystack and payback like installment plans my fist twist unlisted lines You can't call it man, my pen ink.. amazes the page with engraved
its high definition I'm too Jurassic, a future classic Transack, Louie backpack, Do the math Bitch don't let me black cuz its ugly, I'm back won my study
You look straight through me I see no reflection You cut deep inside of me I stitch my own infection Grey is the sunshine that burns my skin Grey is
missing person wallpaper in federal waiting rooms; and in the paper-cut windstorm outside, the faxed and photocopied faces of a twice lost race age in the black ink
When I was little, my father was famous He was the greatest samurai in the empire And he was the Shogun's decapitator He cut off the heads of a hundred
It'll never end, 'til it gets so bad That the ink fills in our fingerprints And the silhouette of your own face Becomes the black cloud of war And even
ten Men die while the ink from my pen dry Tryin to make ends by words not crack rocks If raps are plane crash, my rhyme's the black box, like that [Kurupt
they buy and prepare But nobody cares when it gets in their hair Across the great chasms and the schisms And the sudden aneurysms Where the black ink
my niggaz Gangsters, players Stay up my niggaz, real niggaz Leavin' the cut in a rage Loadin' up my Mac, goin' to my crib, to get my 12 gauze One of