Butane (Champion's Anthem)

[Verse 1: Killer Mike] (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah) Looking for the truth, yeah it's me Everything Polo to the floor though, even at the grocery store though Picture perfect, take a photo, and take the pic you biting bitch And go and stitch a logo (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah) Hit you with the quatro, but my girl Mercedes With the Audi say that Quatro was a two door so a typo You can put on Killer Kill, Fat Boy, or just Michael Call me what you want but still never call me rival They will call you dead and I will call you gone The Lord, sweet Jesus, will be weeping calling your ass home If underground rap royalty is what I’m meant to be Then I will be the shit and you ain't shit to me [Hook] We the ones, we the winners, we the champions Champagne at the end of our campaign Spit fire, naked truth like the blue flame Like the blue flame (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah) Let me see your hands up if you do the same Caught the plug and we bolt like Usain More money, more power, more butane Burn the motherfucker down, down [Verse 2: Killer Mike] Life's a bitch so I mack on her immaculate I don't wear no monkey watches, Rolex is too accurate My rhymes are actually accurate, meaning I don't fiction in my diction To the masses, this perfection is performed through many practices Like prostitutes on mattresses, this shit just come naturally Easy as Osama’s bombers takin many casualties Like Columbine I’m down for mine I’m here to kill the faculty Killin them or killin me, this is my soliloquy Iller than the illest beat, I will spit the illest shit From right here to infinity, Till I reach the dirt I will search the earth endlessly looking for the illest, see Ain’t nobody lyrically as ill as me, 'less Eazy-E Come back from A.I.D…S yes Get a beat from E-L-P, ghostwritten from my partner T.I.P Cube and me and we time travel back to 95 Jumping in a 63 Impala playing Cuban Linx [Hook] Yo Mike they fucked up putting us together man [Verse 3: EL-P] Yo, I'm a Grinch with a grin, I will shit on your kids Get a life, get a grip, get a hold on my dick, bitch, make a wish I'm a knife, I'm nothing-that's-nicer-than-getting-sliced-up The switch, the machete, the feti Yeti, the shyster Icer, getting-closer-to-Christ ya Might just find that the design of your life is an angel hair short of divine love I stink, I just stuck up a truck that said Brinks I'm a Sphinx, snorted so much that my nose just broke off, think I’m alone again, clutching a loaded Glock soaked in chromium Hoping that the thought police just don't bust in my home again Life is tough, you'll get snuffed in the buff So dystopian, ruff ruff, hear the call of the copper mutts on the hunt What the fuck, this is not what my mother said I'll become Star-spangler wranglers got my hopes on the run Getting closer now, maybe our society's supposed to drown Middle finger up on the Titanic as it's going down [Hook]