New World Dis-Order
 

>VERSE 1<
yo im resurectin the next creed of emcees/
who blow enough to rock trees ta no leaves
flowin to be da ill supreme of all rhyme schemes/
from simple thoughts to playin in wide screen dreams
drill through the surface to realease da true ill skills/
droppin corpses of fake emcees in hilled land fills
leavin earth the roamin land of the hectic and majestic/
no room left for da fake and domestic
we havin all angles covered like a quadraseptic plan/
for the fake types nuttin but pain, scorn and disdain
for emcees dat wanna tatse der'd be ample to sample/
meltin skillz inta tracks like dey was burnt off a candle
lines like bolt cuters and gates SON we off da chain/
leavin niggas cut up in da face like dey was raw cocaine

>VERSE 2<
mah rhymes belong in an institute for da lyrically insane/
wit wordplay like scrabble made to stimulate da brain
about to change mah name
to mohammed the rap prophet/
spittin strong words of change noteven god could stop it
blind to religion ta see dat dis is blasphemy/
got virgins promisin me the key to der chastity