Science of the Trife (feat. Slaine & Ill Bill)

[Verse 1: Slaine] It was the time of his life, a capitalist with a communist wife The Bushes are reptilians and Obama is white I can feel it in the air, I got some bad karma tonight Something is wrong, I think my mom is right I never should have left but quitting is good as death It had to be written, you cats had to be put in check I made a lot of moves you dudes wouldn’t get I walked a lot of places in this world you couldn’t step I paid dues and made fools out of you fake goons Seen eight noons straight, I can’t sleep, I ? I sniff coke from fake spoons, dollar bills, and shaved poon Tang, headed for the grave soon I’m just getting iller with my thoughts lately I would feel depressed if you started to not hate me I’m paranoid nodding off dreaming of getting shot Waking up, hopping in the Navi with the Glock [Verse 2: Ill Bill] You pushed my button so here comes the nuclear man This beat’s disgusting, reminds me of a whore with crabs Came to power in Canarsie, south-east of Marcie Kamakaze Anunnakis on Kawasakis Bandana-faced killers, call my chopper Tchotchke And say if I’m amongst the chosen ones then God’s a Nazi Haitian earthquakes, Hawaiian tsunamis Arms dealers buying from Commies Violence and murder riots surround me King’s County preaches strength proudly Think rowdy, when we hit ground zero bro we bend soundwaves Never doubt, we’re passionate like a Taliban firefight Cameramen die for the story, what’s the final price of life? What’s the science of the trife? Why do we exist? Civilization is brainwashed, society is sick I’m like a 1985 subway train ride Get your chain robbed or stage dive, we stay live [Verse 3: Q-Unique] In a police chase with drugs and a stolen gun Like Tiger Woods grab a nine iron and put a hole in one Trying to escape the Devil’s deadly flames But I’m a sex addict for tatted women like Jesse James I look at the world through broken glass With holes in you from holding gats It’s when I’m lonely and smoking grass If you know me show the cash Homie I’m holding back, you’ll be folded holding an open gash Powerful impact boom from the cannon Catch a slap off the hands of doom from where you’re standing Weed, crack and we’re soldiers In Dapper Dan army fatigues with black metal toasters Fuck how nice you are you one trick pony A Mickey Rourke wrestler dying sick and lonely A major sight is you and your rap partner in the cage tonight Player I made you fight, I’m Dana White