[Emcee(s): Rodan]
[Producer(s): Timbaland (Original Instrumental from Timbaland ft. Drake - “Say Something”)]

[Verse: Rodan]
Abracadabra, read the chapter
Original head-slapper, land-clapper, red snapper. Pour one out
For every dead rapper, remember the beef
'Cause the most unique emcee of all time died on
November 13th. Dynasty of the ten pharaohs
Rubber grips with the twelve-inch barrels, no illusions
Serious artists, you delusion, delirious
And retarded. With great power comes great danger like
Being born inside Bethlehem inside a manger. Eclectic messages
Like Tyra's titties talking to me at night, telling me to build a temple
Of top of her breasteses, using levers to outweigh
The snow in Geneva, unbalanced like, “Motherfucker, I’m a Monsta
You’s a single-cell amoeba.” Kaiju goo-goo in Honolulu
With a few clues. Who want a new crew with a cool
Jewel and a nice view of the zoo? Monsta, I manhandle you
Bearhandle animals, hold a bear by his mandibles
Cold-stone army, “Thuggish Ruggish” like Bones-n-Harmony
Closing the pharmacy, the phones of ring tones alarming me
Verses are clips, I’m full spitting, tomahawk you like
Sitting Bull. Cocksucking faggot, I ain’t bullshitting
Heheh, you don’t belong to the streets while Ro’
Known to snatch victory out the jaws of the beat
From a Century 21st precinct, it was the first instinct
Quicker than a mini blink wink or a swift swim
Sinking down the kitchen…
…them clowns is weak, so I increase
My prescription up to about an ounce a week. Handyman
Always bring the proper hammer and pay no attention
To Illuminati propaganda. Already exposed
To so many schools of thought. Not even for a second or a first
Never believe what the fools is taught. Shots of Patrón
Mixed with cortisone, swing steel, turn this
Mic into a swordophone, retro styles and gold chains
Old-school for real, take it back to Miles and Coltrane
Leave out the hip-hop, Big Bam back to the Big Bang
Can’t understand it. Those ain’t irises you see
When you look deeply into my eyes, bitch, those are planets
ADB can’t do the aftermath, remember the last one
‘Cause this is faster blast, laughing gas mask from the past
MC equals Master Cash, intentions
Not just to be a mighty king, so first and foremost
To stand as a most righteous being from the evening star
‘Til the day is gone at B.B. King's headliner
With Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan. Come on, dawg
You’re hitting my elbows. Cocksucker, it’s time for you to
Burn in Hell slow. Hell to the no, fatal blows
For whom the bell tolls. Feet purple, leap the hurdle. Peep the circle
Fell asleep, creepin' up on Myrtle, too much
Cursing. Feel the touch, I’m murdering, motherfuckers be like
“He used to be such a good person.” Hurt ‘em. You got
Those small visions, I got my ayatollah mission. You still
Trapped behind the walls of the system, from the malls to the prisons
Causing all y’all to listen, I stay strapped
Wrap you up in a ball of submission, no way to tap
Tap the fuck out! Aim has all the precision, Hall of Fame
Flame-broilers’ edition. Small-claim crawlers, fall into position
Terminator of recognition, somebody please kill him
Step on these cockroach maggots like an ignition
Make the deaf, dumb, and blind stop, look, and listen. The brand-new
Addiction, brand-new prescription, brand-new predictions
Brand-new premonitions, brand-new ambitions, brand-new
Conditions. Drop science so heavy, the brand-new addition
First aboard the precipice of the church, yelling out to the
Neophytes, sycophants, “Motherfuck your new religion!”
Kill ‘em