Century Break

[Verse 1: Concrete Cee] (Brother Gil) Every Wednesday, some random punch slingers gather To battle for 700 bucks, Concrete Cee had his ear to the chatter I never joined in, cause rappers still mistake themselves As my woman's boyfriend, I'm annoyed to no end By swagger jackers crossin' my path, their limbs soften Keep your distance, this ain't French parking, most of them Are so blunted, it's hard to keep their wits sharpened They fuck with us, Gil? (They'll be pissing their britches up in their coffins) Yo you heard about a bar4bar tournament? 15k for the winner, we snatch whoever earned this shit Burn the shit in front of his face, tell him He want revenge? (That current look on his face is gonna be permanent) People don't be learning shit, until shit happens to them Ignorant motherfuckers, I'm done rapping to them And I don't mean the pseudo artists, I mean their doodoo audience Stick a fork in these puppets like voodoo sorceresses... [Verse 2: Brother Gil] Descending from the clouds, I appear Looking down on victims making an acquaintance with my spear Red bandana, white hair, sitting smug in my lair Got a letter from my friend not from here... He said the Pirates in Berlin got nine percent, that's preposterous! The pirates that I led were never about politics Incompetence is predominant, so I put'em on a longboat Inside a bottle rocket, shoot it up for Jupiter Have them academics looking in the face of Lucifer Have them voters beheaded for not knowing who to trust Paroles are toothless, spoken by loose-lips Silenced by audible sharpness, no studio acoustics Bar 4 Bar, you say? I'm a whirlwind with a poolstick Ruthless, moreso than Shinra's son Rufus Fowls seeking battle? Rest assured, they'll chicken out If not, I got ya back, tell the waitress send a stout! [Verse 3: Concrete Cee] At the venue, on stage spittin' pure capsaicin You ain't even past Cajun, hang yourself with fat laces Accompanied by an assassin with a masked face And a glass razor AKA the Wanderer's Fast Blade Choose the wrong tone around Gil, feel a sharp pain In the neck and be called the Crimson Cascade Henceforth in response, I have been a different rapper Since Q-Tip's Renaissance, real sensitive to nonsense Judge me on character, ability and content And not on whether video vixens looking beyond ten Too much to ask? Or are the meanings in the lines Too tough to grasp? I just had a rough past And my thought patterns shape like a vine bearing grapes Yours don't, so I stomp on ya brain, through your face Barefooted, turn blood to wine, the shit's thicker than water But dead rappers don't get better with age [Verse 4: Concrete Cee] (Brother Gil) My personality's colorful as supernova remnants Bet your shallow thinking asses that you thought Rembrandts Proof you ain't as ill as I am, instead of metronomes I use a Newton Cradle to adjust to the rhythm at hand And, your lies aren't long legged strippers on stilts Your operation's like a flipper on tilt So I'm staring in the eyes of a rapper playing crook, son Knowing he a double-oh-seven Martini, shook one Treat him like a car in the winter, and defrost the motherfucker (Wait a minute, you thought I let him shimmer?) No more! Pawn his trinket, drag the pendant on the floor Throw him out a moving car, make it homicide doors Fuck his funeral, defile his grave Plant black roses on it, piss on'em like every five days Read what the signs say, I cave in your neck For tryna sell your fecal matter called rhymes for a paycheck [Verse 5: Concrete Cee] (Brother Gil) They say rap is entertainment - No faggot, it became it Freemason imagery in your video's not a statement God damn Dan Brown fans, you and I are 33 steps away from the truth, so all you do Is cultivating cultism, I double-checked the clip (Yup, same reaction, shook my head on my both listens) I shook ya hand and remembered the grip, you probably don't remember the kid Back then I was slim as a chick I took my years observing the game, murdering lames Conservative aim, respect, seen rappers burn in the flames Of another spitter, while I kept my fuel drenched drawers on Don't fear fire, not scared to fire when the torch's drawn Honing my craft, 100 flows in the stash Put foes in the past, get too close and get smashed Learned lessons making my first effort, thirsting for press But forgot to connect the dots from the purse to the cash And fuck saying this is my year, this is my life And there is more to a career than what appears at first sight And, not to mention, I don't make songs with rappers I don't like So there's a slim chance we're sharing the mic This extended player will ensure you couldn't forget Who dove in this game so deep, that he could change the offsets Hexadecimal, F bars, are sixteen equivalent Shoulder so cold, when I walk past, you shiverin' I ain't the best? Well, it's all about perspective Right fist, left cheek, leave you with your neck twist You better dodge my arc of piss, the sun rays reflect and Leave a rainbow over ya head, be glad it ain't no halo Put my name in your mouth, chew up on the boardwalk Or have your nose looking like the one on the Concorde (The chairman of the Kontor has spoken, offenders get keelhauled A 1000 yards for every rule broken) I keep a cat o' nine tails, for a pet In the case it has its claws in your back, then you're wet The middlefinger's stiff from showing it to you Your eyes sore from seeing it, but you do nothing to change it, now do you? How about paying respects like we paying our dues? Berlin to London linked like the Chunnel with shit we produce While you sit and argue who is the truest We take the scenic route on debates, cease talking and just do this This is a tandem like Brother Mouzone and Gus Fring Suited up in the studio, microphones in the cufflinks A million dollar grin on our faces, knowing the project finished Is iller than any fucking deal that you just inked Just think for a moment, let it all sink in Like vampire teeth hollow as tips on an inkpen Red ball, black ball, consecutively placed Meant to be great, this is a century break, one!