Yo, yo, yo I know how far this could go But I’m not willing to go far, as long as you know
I’d rather dump you off of the speed-boat
Your trench coat float while you bleed slow—you already know
I check my P.O. Box with a robot
I got a ammo can in the corner full of old Glocks
Aight, breathe. Adjust to the beat
Adjust to the speed of Canibus, the MC
The library of binary. Words I rhyme surprise many
But few realize, if any
You navigate through a constellation of bars
If it does not madden, you will be a god
If it does not sadden, then you will be awed
But they are on their way to capture you, so be on your guard
The world I live in is different from the world you been in But I stay committed and still spit it The microphone is a psychotic object
Those who don’t spit hot shit will get shocked and drop it
I’ll be there in the morning to collect your belongings
If I have to knock more than once, you’ll be sorry
The door sign reads: enter or die
That’s when I wrote the hundred-thousand bar rhyme
So ask Canibus. He ain’t understanding this
Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans ain’t shit
And ninety-nine percent of his fans didn’t think
That ninety-nine percent of the planet can’t spit
But Diabolic 'bout to show you how we handle this
Diabolic and Canibus—sample this
Canibus and Diabolic get busy when we rhymin'
And that’s what we got in common
Yo, ladies rock your body while 'Bolic cocks a shottie
And pops these prima donnas posing for the paparazzi
If not, I’ll prolly hop inside a stolen Maserati
Goin' kamikaze like a pilot sent from Nagasaki
That’s why doctors got me on some anti-psychotics
My logic’s «If I die, 'Bolic's sales sky-rocket»
This high-wattage made corpses rise from pine boxes
With the fire in their eye sockets like they Cyclops’s
By God, this man lost his damn mind and
Buried his head in the sand to plant some landmines
I worry the feds had planned to scan our land lines
Instead, mankind embrace fags who can’t rhyme
So for the last time, I refuse to rap—it's worthless
'Til I land a better deal than the Louisiana Purchase
My purpose is to scratch the surface 'til a crack emerges
Afterwards it’s stuffin' bitches like a taxidermist
And I’m glad my sperm is drippin' through your bitches panties
'Til she barefoot and pregnant, sifting through my kitchen pantry
My daughter’s nine. Dad’s living like a vigilante
Kiss the family, huntin' pedophiles trickin' kids with candy
In other words, those who dare touch what he treasures
Sleep better than Heath Ledger beneath a dream catcher
So I suggest you pray the G-O-D bless ya'
Like a good Muslim on his knees facing east Mecca