The Omen

[Verse 1: Canibus]
My attitude is to watch and observe the magnitude
Is it hostile? What is the next possible move?
Wait until the conditions improve
Listen to me, dude
Don't let it affect your morale, your mission, or your mood
Canibus, true lyricist, Mr. Ubiquitous
Getting busy for Big Pun and his little one Christopher
Little Christopher, big brother Bis take you to the cinema
To show you how hardbody Godzilla was, once upon a time
Top hip-hop brass, supreme hot beam that ass
John Deere in the headlights, leave him in the grass
First pass, low-altitude, high-density mass
See how my symphony's intensity lasts
Hold your breath, cousin
Ignite the gas, spit it all out fast
Run all night to see if we could outlast
They say correlation is not causation
But rather a revelation, happenstance of a nebulous nature
*Ya tu sabe,* I like to cha-cha in Abu Dhabi
With a bad Spanish mommy and Formula One Ferraris
With my canine posse eating saltfish and agi
Mad-dog with the hobbies standing in line at Hobby Lobby
Floridians' scorpion alligator organism
Don't even make no sense talking to them
Monaco muscles' double headed Doberman no muzzle
Bludgeon your face with eight dozen dominoes in a duffle
Grab you by the underarms like I wanna snuggle
Then treat you like Hip Hop when it doesn't love you
Sour cherries I spit garlic, a street conflict makin' a omelet
Young Pun, Imma make you a promise
I stand with you. I stand with G Rap Giacanna
The Rep Hip Hop Thomas, in your father's honor
Rest in peace Ruck, hold it down Rockness Monsta
Brooklyn Dodgers, every Brooklyn bomber on the roster
Say what you say, just give me that shit from RTJ
Watch me put a mix out every day
From Newark to Hackensack Town
Long Island area and back down
It's young Chris and Rip the Jacker now, gimme love

[Hook sample: "Get on the mic, get on the mic..." x15]

[Verse 2: Chris Rivers]
Yo, yo
It's the con of cons
[?] pajamas on
A lot of bombs dropped from [?] bionic rap automaton
Wiring infused with ivory, I'll scale down your trees
My skin rips, turn to loose leaf--blood is fire ink
I'm made of this
Bank account with steady statement lists
Statements paved the pay for payments pace this state of bliss
Name is Chris: son of rap gods and amazon
I remember trying to flip the green without a salad tong
This ain't that killer shit; this that vigilant militant instrument
Niggas cinnamon sweeter than drizzled [liniments?]
Take your ligaments, break you down like you are some insulin
It's been written Mayans predicted this whole predicament
Doomsday apocalyptic, with thoty bitches
Esophagus with
Lots of lipstick, they want my prime, I'm optimistic
Not a mystic, this real-deal, holy-feel
Banana clips in every bar
Spitting 'til your dome is peeled
Rivers

[Hook sample: "Get on the mic, get on the mic..." x15]

[Verse 3: Kool G Rap]
K.G.R., Bis, Chris Rivers
Niggas piss rivers
New York City slick niggas that click triggers
My shit hit ya [?] tore ligaments, rip livers
[?] Niggas bodies wiggle like big strippers
My young hitters draw blickers like they was stick figures
Shit bricks in your pants, missing your kitty litter
From that life to day and night, with the brick flippers
Made it clear, it's 1080p--I'm a crisp picture
[?] slit your throat, send your bitch witch ya
Chasing my notes until I croak, nigga, big figures
Lead inaction got a fetish for the letter-stacking
I'm at your cabbage, ratchet under the sweater jacket
I wear the bastard, and dash past him, with metal blastin'
I'm hand-crackin', I lay him flat in a bed of passion
Catch him lackin' before he get to the pedal-mashin'
Steppin' to me, I let niggas speak to the double-actions
No shells missin', I'm Mel Gibson, Beretta blastin'
I'm scale whippin' in Hell's kitchen for cheddar stackin'

[Hook sample: "Get on the mic, get on the mic..." x15]

[Outro sample: "the mic" x8]