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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

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 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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