Saviour

[Intro: Poetic] Sharpshooters Regime, Godz Work Regime Baby J all the way, smooth as Alize Yo, yo, General Grym, yo Locking it down like the federal pen Yo, we gonna start with the hook [Hook: Poetic] I'm about to wreak havoc on the beast this year Labels ain't trying to promote this here Commercial radio shows, they just don't care The savior of the rap world now appears To my peers on the pavement, time is near To my peers on my wavelength, have no fear Ten years of politicking made me aware My soul is more precious than rap careers [Verse 1: Too Poetic] I'm holding lives, armies of God immobilize Reclaiming scrolls, stolen by spies holding fives My mother's swollen eyes prepared me for warfare Busting off cold in your ear with more flare than the 4th of July My Sharpshooter regime got the prototype to blow a mic You couldn't see me in infrared photo light, I'm so precise You know the Poet's nice, carrying the tubes made of gold and ice Marching through your outpost, causing outbursts Caught you in your house, cold made your mouth hurt Just saying my name is a federal offence Now you fucking with the Hip Hop general whose attacks Is indefendable, your weak spine is bendable Your weak mind is pretendable It wants to act sensible but lacks intelligence to pull it off You only understand the bullet talk Instead of talking that bull, you should've walked out my territory My clever stories sever corny put-together measures lyrically I'm like a terror orgy, you rap niggas *snores* bore me Made me into this sword carryin', cord varyin' Lord buryin' fraud barbarians You know the gods twist it like Bavarian pretzels Plus, I'm never respectful to those who are neglectful Of their duty to civilize As they minimize the power of a live mic See, I maximize all cracks in their vibe, just to provide light And only the strong survive, so I keep the rhyme tight [Hook: Poetic] [Verse 2: Poetic] Modern scientists clone cows and sheep, just from grown cells Manipulate nature where guns fail, war tactics vary Our adversary has various ways to bury us ex-slaves Of America, every day could be your last day You could be blasted the fast way, caps stray, then ricochet And flash gray matter, while you praying to the Father Kissing the coba, kids in the corner is turning the streets into a sauna In the black homes, while the black dome Lacks the backbone to recapture the black phone You got Aryans all up in your face And y'all bugging off who got the fucking hottest mixtape In New York state, war schemes, your plot to war Feds And plot lace the block with crates full of Glocks See, they got more fiends fiending for morphines and more rocks Than Plymouth until it's hot for the timid street chemist Got more bass than DJ's got bass-bins Jakes'll pull a raid and stomp at the cops in combat Mortals are charged like Raiden You caught off guard, now armed guards excort you to court Offices where officers offer certain deals Which appeal to the snake mind Yo, it ain't hard to find fakes: from clothes designs To jewels, to mixtapes, to the way niggas rhyme Yo, I'm fed up, me and the gods set up So every other team get fucking wet up [Hook: Poetic] [Outro: Poetic] Yo! Yo! I'm too hype to finish this shit! Yo!