"I feel like everybody wants something from me"
"Yeah tell me about it, it's a cold world out there
Sometimes I think I'm getting a little frosty myself"

My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
Animal found toast
But my ghetto
Animal

Life's ill, sometimes life might kill
Vordul Mega, five digits grab mics, mic strike type ill
Is life real? Yo akh' he builds
When life feels like Earth don't spin, whirlwinds might blend
Life's at a standstill, dangerous cause man kills
And still cats visualize life ghetto like
One mind, sometime these cats see life
Street life in complete light and be like
I'm a live life after this one crime
One line from the Megalah blow spines
Everyone knows the city's ill, cats kill
Still black man holds nine, Gotta chill star C-A.L.L.A.H
Be the light of Shamar, work hard Shamar C-Cipher-A.L.L.A.H
Adapt bars snatch stars and detach large channels
But our bar's handle might, break mics
Vordul Megalah the cannibal ate mics
Strive, live live
Fuck five, I want a hundred and eight mics

Son, yo son did you see that kid yo?
Yo, yo, chill out man, chill out
Yo son did you, yo son he pulled it out"

Five digits cock biddy nine milli
One floor shot silly, spun city one verse hit milly
Little girls spinning curls three sixty, living in a world shitty
Yo they spun young earth, now shitty
NY 5-0 might shoot black head
Nigga sorry I sold space suit to crack head
DTs operate mechanically, po-po in slow-mo
Black kids locked away, add a key
Plus one fourth pound of smoke flow
While lock head Fabian, Ahmed Arabian, laying in
Bodeg holding drama AK, spoke like As-salamu OK
Choking vodka mixed with OJ
Wig splits mad quick
Spinning three six O wave, C4 blew the door
Number eight, Summer face tank top with a knot
Number nine said run the place
Took my girl stereo, CD, plus the tape
Brooke star, don't wet that, fucked her face lets stuff the place
Jet back to Santa Cruz, Californ-i-a
Peace to C-God locked up, cat born nine ways
Come home mad soon, live ill, life phases
Like little black girl got shot
Damn it hurts when they spun earth filled with knots
Gonna make a difference so we get locked
Caught in the shit and losing what we got
Come on black equals, equals

"Do you know that you're one of the few predator species
That preys even on itself?"

And if there's crack in a basement

Crack heads stand adjacent
Anger displacement from food stamp arrangements
You were a still born baby, mother didn't want you
But you were still born
Boy meets world, of course his pops is gone, what you figure
That chalky outline on the ground is a father figure?
So he steps to the next stencil, that's a hustler
Infested with money and diamond cluster
Let's talk in layman terms
Rotten apples and big worms, early birds and poachers
New York is evil at its core, so those who have more than them
Prepare to be victims
Ate up by vultures, the politicians
In a dog eat dog culture, that'll sick 'em
Lack of mineral, we take it personal
A pigeon can't drop shit if it never flew
Every day is no frills, empty krills
Broken 40 bottles and MCs with skills
I rest my head on 115
But miracles only happen on 34th, so I guess life is mean
And death is the median
And purgatory is the mode that we settle in (no doubt)
I've got that Eve's Bayou sense of touch
So I fought, to touch every hand of a fan to read their thoughts
Battered wives, molested children
Roaches on the floor, rats in the ceiling
Cats walk around New York with two fillings
One is in their mouth, the other does the killing
I'm Vast Aire, Kramer, top billing

(Yo rest in peace to Big L, 139)

Copyright: CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC
Writer(s): Jaime Meline, Shamar Eugene Gardner, Theodore Arrington