[Verse 1: Planet Asia]
Thoughts of a boss
Keep the gun stashed in the back of the Porshe
React and get lost
Lay the founding action and corpse, bones
Homie believe I murdered duke
My gats procedure of surgical slash
Cutting your seizure down to a convirtable
Money, power, respect, and honor
Nines, ninas and llamas
Niggas with clutches, Glocks, stuches and fiending for drama
Crack in the kitchen, smacking the chicken
Attached to the riches, gats on the mission
Never catch me rapping fiction, yeah, c'mon
Cowards catch a hazard from the cannon's blazing
Face mask, fracture when the hammer raises
FC still controlling the spot
Now show what you got, and end up with a hole in your top
Get shot for your doe and your watch
Get caught, for your chain and your whip
Pit stop niggas aiming with clips
Hit your block, D banging with 5ths
Shit drops, peeps, niggas, and kids; it gets hot
[Verse 2: Killah Priest]
I frighten fear, murder death, burgalize theft
You heard of my breath? It cures your flesh
I strike lightninnig, curse out thunder
Merge out from under the ground
Where hundreds of crowns of rappers I've tooken down
They're shook of the sound, that vibrate Priest
I annihilate beats, eyes dilate, you feel weak
Priest is a poet, a preacher, a painter
Preparing pictures for people who are listeners or thinkers
Build like the Incas or Mayans when I'm rhyming
The pen wills in his fingers, I make a disease sick
When I'm holding the mick, I mean mic
Sometimes I missay what I write
The pistol right, the G-Ciples, the Margarines
My rifles got unlimited magazines for rappers who blast fiend
Feel the wrath of a king, I Stained Glass my 16
Thoughts of a boss
Keep the gun stashed in the back of the Porshe
React and get lost
Lay the founding action and corpse, bones
Homie believe I murdered duke
My gats procedure of surgical slash
Cutting your seizure down to a convirtable
Money, power, respect, and honor
Nines, ninas and llamas
Niggas with clutches, Glocks, stuches and fiending for drama
Crack in the kitchen, smacking the chicken
Attached to the riches, gats on the mission
Never catch me rapping fiction, yeah, c'mon
Cowards catch a hazard from the cannon's blazing
Face mask, fracture when the hammer raises
FC still controlling the spot
Now show what you got, and end up with a hole in your top
Get shot for your doe and your watch
Get caught, for your chain and your whip
Pit stop niggas aiming with clips
Hit your block, D banging with 5ths
Shit drops, peeps, niggas, and kids; it gets hot
[Verse 2: Killah Priest]
I frighten fear, murder death, burgalize theft
You heard of my breath? It cures your flesh
I strike lightninnig, curse out thunder
Merge out from under the ground
Where hundreds of crowns of rappers I've tooken down
They're shook of the sound, that vibrate Priest
I annihilate beats, eyes dilate, you feel weak
Priest is a poet, a preacher, a painter
Preparing pictures for people who are listeners or thinkers
Build like the Incas or Mayans when I'm rhyming
The pen wills in his fingers, I make a disease sick
When I'm holding the mick, I mean mic
Sometimes I missay what I write
The pistol right, the G-Ciples, the Margarines
My rifles got unlimited magazines for rappers who blast fiend
Feel the wrath of a king, I Stained Glass my 16
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