[Immortal Technique]   Somebody talk shit to me in L.A., would never live   Cause brown rolls deeper than red or blue, ever did   I got bullets that'll rip through yo' ribs   More painful than watchin R. Kelly piss on yo' kids   Here's the ultimatum motherfucker, give me the ASCAP   Or give America Biggie and 2Pac flashbacks   Some niggaz don't think the underground is grimy and dirty   'til they find your body on a fuckin highway in Jersey   I fire rockets at generic topics   Your lyrics don't hold weight, like two-dimensional objects   Cause jail culture didn't give you that fitted hat   to memorize a ghostwritten shit verse and spit it back   I won't let your wack rhymes redefine lyricism   For a whole generation with they fathers in prison   You live inside the image of an era that's gone   Like government officials tryin to justify Vietnam   I leave niggaz traumatized, like they momma died   And they was responsible for the drive-by homicide   And I don't market revolution, I live it   What you think cause you fake everyone else is a gimmick?   Jealous bickering, industry slaves, the nerve of you   Like a child prostitute born into a life of servitude   Until we murder you, makin the red carpet burgundy   With PsychoRealm in the streets where I prefer to be      [Chorus: Immortal Technique]   Hollywood drive-by, motherfuckin murder-fest   Weed clouds in the air, that cause turbulence   Revolucion, motherfucker you heard of it   I light the spliff with the flag, while I'm burnin it   Hollywood drive-by, sprayin the cucarachas   War with the system like the streets of Oaxaca   Yeah, revolucion, motherfucker you scared of it?   Well it's comin to the industry now, so be prepared for it      [PsychoRealm]   You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full-clip raps   While most of these gangsta rappers are some full-fledged rats   You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full [scratches]   You're on some bull {*scratches*} you're on some bull [scratches]      You're on some bullshit tracks, I spit them full-clip raps   While most of these gangsta rappers are some full-fledged rats   The real G's stay strapped in full combat   What you see in the videos is full-on acts   The streets don't believe you homie   Armageddon in the rap game is comin and we lead the army   Rock tear a tape out of yo' sounds   Got hostages in pink, this is what they call hip-hop now?   I keep that metro shit out of my whip   Man that dummy rap is through makin money, it's about to extinct   You know the radio tryin to kill rap with that shit   The only thing dyin is the DJ's when the K spit   We're here to CEO's, and blow up A&R's   I'm takin your chips like crashing your game of cards   This is how I eat holmes, I would give you buzz   And take the life of these stars for this thing of ours      [Chorus]      [Sick Symphonies]   Yeah, uhh   I'm from the city of falling stars, the home of banging hard   Waiting for them at the Radio City Hall to snatch 'em out their fucking cars   Expose 'em for what they are - NARCs, jakes, snake informants   Feeding us horse shit, blaze up all of them   They say hip-hop doesn't exist   Rappers talking hard dressed up like punk rock kids   Pumped up by some corporate endorsement, dead corpses are voiceless   No one hears ya homie, ya little fame is over   We'll send little homies foreclosure   like bankers, cause you owe us the mortgage   For exploiting the lifestyle that many died, jailed up in storage   Leaving most of us hopeless, homies radio focused   What we're building got 'em all afraid   Give me the K, I'll be honored to ignite the flame   that'll, burn down the game, what's fame? Keep it   A movement, a sonic war, motherfucker you sleepin      [Chorus]