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Diabolic
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1
[Intro]
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I'd like to thank ya'll,
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For this opportunity to drop the jewellery,
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And get this shit poppin' musically.
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[Verse 1]
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Feels like I'm locked in hells gate and god's my cell-mate,
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Sayin' plot this jail-break, pop the cops who tailgate,
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You sealed your fate prying inside my business,
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To find a mind as scientific as Mayan hieroglyphics,
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As god's my witness, I'll spit viral sickness,
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Like bible scripted black plague in the last day's final minutes,
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On a primal vicious grind, till my vinyl shipments climb,
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Through the great vine and be defined as vintage wine,
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Sky's the limit? Fine, I'm in your atmosphere,
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To racketeer the sky and to fall it on your rap career,
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And I ain't stackin' near the millions I'm worth,
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Coz' sayin' somethin' ill in a verse and havin' skills are a curse,
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But still, I got a feelin' that this villain at work'll be,
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More chillin' than still born children at birth,
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I'm the king; my underlings are building my church,
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And when your mom close her eyes to pray I'm stealing her purse.
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Now, god willing I become the illest on Earth,
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Where love is hate so I just pray your feelings get hurt,
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My life is tragic, so it's only right I write the madness,
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Like being psychopathic's my right of passage,
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And don't care what the price of gas is,
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I'll splash it on you while I'm lighting matches,
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And put out the flames with nitric acid,
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Spiteful bastard, I'm back with a vengeance,
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A fifth of Jack and a Mac-11 to capture the essence.
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[Bridge: Diabolic]
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I'm just an artist gettin' closer to the edge,
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So when I go over know I put my soul in what I said,
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For real, Bolic ain't focused on the bread,
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I had enough of that, so if you with me where the fuck you at?
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[Hook: Immortal Technique/Rebel Armz]
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Where the fuck you at? We right here,
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Where the fuck you at? We right here,
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Where the fuck you at? We right here,
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Where the fuck you at? We right here.
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[Verse 2]
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Fuck your gun fights, all I need is one mic and crowd-time,
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And I could outshine the sunlight on cloud nine,
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For now I'm climbin' uphill and grindin',
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Till I chill reclining on a diamond studded silver lining,
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Feel this priming, but those sceptics don't get it,
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Most said I dig my own grave, I'm too poetic,
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Stressed like Po said, let's organise confusion,
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I'm just a microphone fiend, always high,
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Using the rush, intoxicated me and fortified the movement,
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And plus I get to slaughter guys all for my amusement,
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Drawn my conclusion, don't need a label budget,
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So I'm sayin' "fuck it"ย, like I'm way above it, you can hate or love it,
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Raised in Suffolk, fighting like I'm Razor Ruddock,
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Without a pot to piss in; urinate in public,
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In the home of Rakim, Eric Sermon, R.A. The Rugged,
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Diabolic's dancing with the devil angel dusted,
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Bring the ruckus; let's rumble in the slums,
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So I can punch you in the ribs till there punchering your lungs,
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I'm just wondering, how the fuck you doubling your funds,
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By lieing about scratching off the numbers on the gun,
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Coz', the muthafuckas where I'm from feel inside,
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That even though Dilla died, hip-hop is still alive,
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And it will survive the fake thugs talkin' tough,
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When I click the nine to get a dial tone and call your bluff.
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[Hook x2: Immortal Technique/Rebel Armz]
Richard Marx - Hazard
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