by-eric:

When i first heard about immortal technique in 07

You’re not as cold as me, motherfucker stop pretending
I’ll murder you infront of your crib like John Lennin
Rip the tendons out of your muscle to cut the tension
I’m beyond the comprehension like related subatomic particles in fit dimensions
Suspension in the breathing is when I’m leaving until I lead you
To demons whisper the meaning of life in your ear
Right before they make your motherfucking life disappear
But just because you hear the multi-celabic grammatical
Don’t compare me to rappers that are unsabbatical
Because I never did business in little fucking Italy
I play checkers on triple-decker tour buses in Tripoli
The way that you typically bicker at me inexpicably
Is a mystery that pisses me off ridiculously
Because I’m lyrically beyond the level scientifically
Specifically spitting out the spic in me politically
I’m in majority of America futuristically
After I die, fuck my music, you’ll feel me spiritually
Talking incisively ripping above the avages
You hold no weight, like bitches after miscarriages
And your labour produces more kids like gay marriages
I’m disparaging every fake thug rapper in sight
That’s why your faggot ass will never make it into the light
I’ll crack your skull when I smash your face into the mic
And now you know what I’m like
I’ll shook like the industry, I feel like the spirit of Nap Turner got into me
You’re infinitely hopeless, you sound like shit when you spit live
Like Jennifer Lopez, a massacre of rich rapper
And all this pope friends, and go to Club Cheetah
Rocking some blood-soaked tins, party crashing, animal-fucking model bitches
Leaving their stick-figure anorexic pussy in stitches
My verbal blitzes are outshined your offence
You’re running down nonsense, and I’m two-hundred proof
Choking the local youth in this home-made vocal booth
You’re a fucking incomponent killer like Ray Carruth
And I’m Technique, the rawest nigga ever produced
I spit nasty on the regurgitating period juice
So burn your fucking rhyme book
Stay warm, and put it to good use
I’m about to drop like frozen airplane-shit through your roof
And I’m sick of fake hustlas telling lies to the youth
You never robbed the Minikins, and you couldn’t sling rocks if you was Palestenian
You broke motherfucker, you cats don’t burn rubber
You niggaz can’t even get a fucking cab like Danny Glover
You ain’t hardcore, I’ll smack the shit out of your mother
You wanna be gutter? I’ll leave you laid out in the street
Signed yours truly, the motherfucking Immortal Technique