Zealots

Another emcee lose his life tonight, Lord

I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ

Why?

Oh, Lord, Father, don't let him bury me

I haunt emcees like Mephistopheles

Bringin' swords of Damocles

Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy

Abstracts rap simple with the street format

Gaze into the sky and measure planets by paralax

Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion

Of biting and recyclin' and callin' it your own creation

I feel like Rockwell, somebody's watchin' me

I got no privacy whether on land or at sea

And for your biting zealots, your raps are ****-phonic

Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside, you wish you had the pop hit

It hurts, don't it?

And refugee come to your turf and take over the earth (Yeah)

See, my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes

That can only get down with my crew

And if you try to take lines or bite rhymes

We'll show you how The Refugees do

Yeah, yeah, behold as my odes, manifold on your rhymes

Two emcees can't occupy the same space at the same time

It's against the laws of physics

So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics

Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile

Whether Jew or gentile, I rank top percentile

Many styles, more powerful than gamma rays

My grammar pays like Carlos Santana plays Black Magic Woman

So while you fumin', I'm consumin' mango juice under Polaris

You're just embarrassed 'cause it's your last tango in Paris

And even after all my logic and my theory

I add a **** so you ignorant **** can hear me

You remember take notes as a sow my rap oats

And for you biting zealots, here's a quote

Ay, another emcee lose his life tonight, oh

I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ

Why?

Oh, Lord, Father, don't let him bury we, ay

You can try, but you can't divide the tribe

These cats can't rap, mister author, I feel no vibe

What you read, the magazine said the girl shoulda went solo

The guys should stop rappin', vanish like Menudo

Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part

As long as someone was listenin', I knew it was a start

For me to get my chance, grab my pen, and revamp

Do a cameo while everybody do the dance

Quick now 'cause you runnin' outta lucker

Playin' Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you, sucker

While you munchin' at your luncheon, I'll be plannin' your assassination

Then hit you like that Dutchman

I compress sound sets with my rap DBX

Then drop vocals on my 456 Ampex

Bring terror to the shop of horror

As she cries, "Mi amor," the phantom dies in the opera

And to the youngins who carry gadgets

And kill six days a week and rest on the Sabbath

Violence ain't necessary unless you provoke me

Then get buried like the great Mussolini

And for you biting zealots, your rap styles are relics

No matter who you damage, you're still a false prophet

Ay, another emcee lose his life tonight, Lord

I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ

Why?

Oh, Lord, Father, don't let them bury me