Tekster: Blue Sky Black Death & Hell Razah. Razah's Ladder. Halos.

(feat. Crooked I)

[Verse 1: Hell Razah]
Knock, knock, who is it? I'm back, stop the gimmicks
I pop pop the biscuit and shut down your businesses
They wanna white-wash scan-copy my image
While I became a menace 'cause I found my limits
Spit it, open up the Book of Life and see my name in it
Same sentence, sure my wagers are death if I ain't live it
Ask the Lord for forgiveness of sins that I committed
Even Solomon predicted, you can't die with your riches
Of course, no pillow talk when you lie with them bitches
Each verse be worth money like Egyptian pictures
It got worse since the Bush's took that torch from Hitler
Pour out liquor for my dead comrades, I ain't forget ya, man
A lot of sex, but I'm no Caligula
I'm livin' Hip Hop, son, you just a visitor
A lot of faces and the names are similar
I build with the OG's down to superiors, yeah

[Hook: Vocal samples]
"Fight the system"
"Got a precinct with the po-po"
"Bust your pistol"
"Seekin' five-O"
"Fight the system"
"Got a precinct with the po-po"
"Bust your pistol"
"Seekin' five-O"

Yo, this how we do it, man
Crooked I, where you at, baby?

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
I sit in the dark with my dead homies, obituary pictures
They talk to me while I'm writin' these literary scriptures
Sayin', "Crooked, don't let the Police Military get ya"
I tell 'em, before they do I'll be in a cemetery with ya
Militant momma, she was down with the Panthers
Picture me, a baby G in a dashiki and Pampers
I was the face of the pamphlets man, the black future
But nowadays, niggas gat shoot ya, fuck it, I clap rugers
My nina singin' like Fat Luther
Vandross, a damn boss bringin' that braat-braat to ya
COB is a religion, listen I'm in it
Everything I'm spittin' was written with hidden symbolism in it
Infinite wisdom hittin' the intricate sentences I'm spittin'
Cryptic as hieroglyphics, thought they figured it, but they didn't
West Coast Fayroll, killers on the payroll
20's on my chariot, dodge a blue halo

Hey yo, ya feel me out there? Whassup, Razah
Momma raised a Hell Razah

[Hook: Vocal samples]
"Fight the system"
"Got a precinct with the po-po"
"Bust your pistol"
"Seekin' five-O"
"Fight the system"
"Got a precinct with the po-po"
"Bust your pistol"
"Seekin' five-O"

[Verse 3: Hell Razah]
In this modern-day era, we be in terror, black Che Guevara's
On wax we like anthrax wrapped in a letter
My Beretta is for the slaves with forgotten graves
Like the names of Dred Scott, we aimin' with head shots
With scopes and red dots on old prejudice cops
Who plot on dope blocks with coke measurement drops
It's more drugs to schools for kids with no pops
My hood be like a cemetery
They gave a project tombstones and sanctuaries
This for the kids outside that's in the military
No matter black or Israeli, they both want us buried
It's a war outside, I hope you gettin' ready
Get off your celly and stand up and grab a semi-
Automatic, 'cause momma raised a Hell Razah like Makaveli

I'd like to pour out some Holy Water
For all the thug angels we been missin'

[Outro: Excerpt from The Boondock Saints]
"One day you will look behind you and you will see we three...
And on that day, YOU WILL REAP IT! "
"We will send you to whatever God you wish."
"And shepherds we shall be, for thee, oh Lord, for thee.
Power hath descended forth from Thy hand.
That our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command.
So we shall flow a river forth to Thee,
And teeming with souls shall it ever be.
In Nomeni Patri, Et Fili, Spiritus Sancti."