These rhythms can't deface me   Hot rhythms stimulate me   Can't help but swing it boy   Swing it brother swing   Don't stop the beat that's   Slapped this foolish brat   Come on swing me boys   Swing it brother swing            Word up, let's take 'em to war, son   Show 'em how it should be done   It's real god   Yeah, yeah   Stimulate the brain cells   Check it, check it            Yo killarmy bounty killers   Industry kid shivers   Shells up through your liver   Dead corp float the rivers   Murderous style is superior from shaolin to nigeria   Stalking through the monitor   With the wisdom for dynamical fessor (? )   Lyrical kid in processor   Nat turner was my militant ancestor   I capture your mind put in isolation   Control the soul automation   Victims became mechanical slaves again   Read the east coast historian   As you oppose this   Your walking dead soldiers can't get close to this   I be splitting shit like moses   Then celebrate with guns 'n roses   I turn soundtracks into startracks   My tongue is symbolic to an axe   I used to be caught up in the world of mad max   Now come against the consequence of the 9th prince   I sit upon my throne and chop off domes   Then send them home to your peoples   So they can sew 'em                  Thoughts I generate like high forms of energy   My brain's energetic   Ultramagnetic synthetic   Burn like oil   High octane let it drain upon the shaolin soil   You get trapped inside my rap coils   Like my phalanges rip the microphone   When I recite a war poem   It's writen in my soldier's log   It's a killarmy espionage   Puerto rican mobster in camouflage   Perform at the mirage my entourage   Get the ticket through telecharge as I massage lyrics get enlarged   Grenade particles rip through your fatigue articles   You flee for shelter   My tre pound rounds'll melt you   Like camouflage vinyl in the force of delta                  What, what, one time   Come on, swing it   Bring it, what   Killarm, yeah, swing it   The gods gonna bring it   Real, what            Yo, yo   You either get down shut the fuck up or catch an uppercut   Rough enough to muffle up your jaw when we knuckle up   Knuckle what? bacardi hit me harder than you   You crash dummies show respect when the gods is coming through   Eyes swollen up the size of coconuts   Your body folding up   Allah the soldier struck and through the cut I walk and hold you up   Sit back hang from your hip like loose kani's   Try to flip it on the strength of your wis' and let you slide   Savage eighty five trying to test sides   True we're living thirty two shots   We're sending a rocket to your prison   Caught you bubbling   Like a cold sore the money coming in   Juggling the church and street life you got me wonderng and catch 'em   I let allah bless 'em   That's the question   You dealing with a madman's profession   So choose your weapon