Stress

[Hook] Crush, kill, destroy, stress (Repeat x4) [Verse 1: Prince Po] Pain, stress My brain, can't even rest It's hard to maintain the pressure on my chest Excess frustration strikes! Blood rushes my head when I come across roads With dead mics and wack promoted shows it's hard But with the presence of God I'm true to the game So I'm back black, to take charge, and recap-ture The time, wish it could never be wack -- I'm pure I insert my lifeline into the track, the energy In me is a poison with no un-revealed remedy I'm spreading, like leprosy, throughout the record label Cause mines put me and Monch's career in jeapordy Can you come see me in the ghetto where it's dark Bullets are real lost peeps lurks in the heart Lord knows it hurts, we kick the Hertz to the curb Execute first things first, and put blunted minds to work My herd's tight and my fans supports So I'm a-ight, for the time being seeing peace But taking no shorts (no shorts) [Hook] (album version includes a short "taxi cab" skit here) [Verse 2: Pharoahe Monch] You will now consider me the apocalyptic one After this rhyme, henceforth, there is none NO more will exist, when I emerge From the mist in whence I was born into, scorned Most of you can't even comprehend what I am saying To you even in my human form the message I'm relaying Why do you choose to mimic these wack MC's? Why do you choose to listen to R&B? Why must you believe somethin' is phat Just because it's played on the radio, 20 times per day? My perception of poetical injection is ejaculation The Immaculate Conception The hall walker, who stalks bodies in Central Park Soon emergency services'll outline that body in chalk Then I begin to walk away and spit Then when I walk away I talk shit! Huh, a driver sprayed my face with mace She didn't know that I enjoyed the taste of radioactive waste When I'm in the backseat of your mid-town taxi Don't even ask me for the cash G The four cabs before didn't pick me up Now ask yourself who the fuck's gonna stick me up [Hook]