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Lyrical Tactics Pt. II (The Final Conflict) [Dirty]
by
The Alchemist
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Lyrics
Mr. Voodoo - “Lyrical Tactics Pt. II (The Final Conflict)” Yeah, it’s about to happen. Word up, it’s about to happen. The Final Conflict. Y’all ready? It’s about to happen. Y’all ready? Y’all ready? I don’t think you’re ready, son. It’s the beginning of the end, son. Word up. Word. Check it out Check the Gangster Chronicles, turn to page 6-6-6 The final chapter, holocaust for emcees I bring the rapture, famine, disease, disaster. Many Came before, but none come after. I’m still the rapper with More flows to flip, more hoes to hit More mics to rip, plus a gun on my hip If n***as wanna crawl and creep, clutch the heat, then “Ka-pow!” The fifth lift you up off your feet Raised by these Brooklyn streets, the trife creature Carhartts and wife-beaters, physique like a statue with Night-heaters, the shells raise your skin like tattoos, you won’t Stand a chance. Call the ambulance—this cat’s through Now turn your history textbooks, look and see who Rocks sh*t consistently. Ain’t no f**king mystery I came to stipulate. I ain’t a player, I’m The Game like Triple H, y’all lames just simulate. Aim Flame to cripple fakes. That sh*t you speaking Make me get to creeping, hit you while you’re sleeping Leave your head leaking, bullets touch cheeks, n***as Talk so much sh*t, their lips look like butt cheeks. f**k sl*ts and freak with low-esteem, no hopes and dreams Gun stocks and beams burn holes through teams, turn the whole scene Definitely ill like Stephanie Mills It’s “Something in the Way” they make me feel like dumping steel Leave your frame peeled, brains on the windshield Mr. Voo. Ain’t no competition in the rap field Check the Gangster Chronicles, turn to page 6-6-6 The final chapter, holocaust for emcees I bring the rapture, famine, disease, disaster. Many Came before, but none come after. I’m still the rapper with More flows to flip, more hoes to hit More mics to rip, plus a gun on my hip If n***as wanna crawl and creep, clutch the heat, then “Ka-pow!” The four-fifth will slaughter you It’s the meta- -phorical oracle, flow nautical Lyrics assortable, biscuits is portable Risk this is unaffordable. We’re trife thugs that light dubs Get our scrap on like we’re in a fight club All up in that ass like surgeons with white gloves, take The gun off safety, nowhere to run for safety I see your thoughts like Leonard Nimoy. Let’s see you catch these Bullets with your teeth like Bruce Leeroy. Used to live as B-boys, now we’re using kids as decoys to attract Feds Ingeniously, feed hungry rap-heads intraveniously Take these binoculars, observe the scenery. See that Helicopter way up in the sky? Hold scopes and TECs And ropes on necks, your gang about to die, throw ‘em Off the deck, hang ‘em high, watch the pelicans fly, tears Swell up in your eyes, grown men ain’t s’posed to cry. Never Liked those guys, may they rest in Hell or in the skies Always tell the truth even when I’m telling lies, blast shells At spies, the revolution won’t be televised Now check the Gangster Chronicles, turn to page 6-6-6 The final chapter, holocaust for emcees I bring the rapture, famine, disease, disaster. Many Came before, but none come after. I’m still the rapper with More flows to flip, more hoes to hit More mics to rip, plus a gun on my hip If n***as wanna crawl and creep, clutch the heat, then “Ka-pow!” Your blood start dissolving Now tell me: what’s Your problem? It seems you wanna be me. Number 2: You got that hatred engraved in your mind plus some fake sh*t like Muslims craving swine, trying to behave divine. I Give it to you, you’re brave for trying. You thought your sh*t get better With age like wine, but you’re more like vinegar f**k a pioneer—to you, I’m the primogenitor. Put The fear of God in ya like Moses, I bear but rob From ya, blast and make you feel something hot in ya Thug is not in ya. When it comes to having nuts, you Like a virgin ‘cause it’s something you ain’t got in ya. Trying to Act like mean crooks? Save the mean looks. You need to study These rhymes like Christians do them little green books. You seem Shook, should have packed your banger. It’s a scary world, but I’m gangster like Hue when he had Jheri curls. It’s still The physical, mystical, artistical. You should worry more ‘bout What my fists’ll do than what my lyrics do Now check the Gangster Chronicles, turn to page 6-6-6 The final chapter, holocaust for emcees I bring the rapture, famine, disease, disaster. Many Came before, but none come after. I’m still the rapper with More flows to flip, more hoes to hit More mics to rip, plus a gun on my hip If n***as wanna crawl and creep, clutch the heat, then “Ka-pow!” The fifth lift you up off your feet Now check the Gangster Chronicles, turn to page 6-6-6 The final chapter, holocaust for emcees I bring the rapture, famine, disease, disaster. Many Came before, but none come after More flows to flip, more hoes to hit More mics to rip, plus a gun on my hip If n***as wanna crawl and creep, clutch the heat, then “Ka-pow!” The fifth lift you up off your feet Watch out, kid “My hunger is unexplainable” - Sample from The Notorious B.I.G. - “n***as Bleed” (x2)
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