Saviour

[Intro: Poetic]
Sharpshooters Regime, Godz Work Regime
Baby J all the way, smooth as Alize
Yo, yo, General Grym, yo
Locking it down like the federal pen
Yo, we gonna start with the hook

[Hook: Poetic]
I'm about to wreak havoc on the beast this year
Labels ain't trying to promote this here
Commercial radio shows, they just don't care
The savior of the rap world now appears
To my peers on the pavement, time is near
To my peers on my wavelength, have no fear
Ten years of politicking made me aware
My soul is more precious than rap careers

[Verse 1: Too Poetic]
I'm holding lives, armies of God immobilize
Reclaiming scrolls, stolen by spies holding fives
My mother's swollen eyes prepared me for warfare
Busting off cold in your ear with more flare than the 4th of July
My Sharpshooter regime got the prototype to blow a mic
You couldn't see me in infrared photo light, I'm so precise
You know the Poet's nice, carrying the tubes made of gold and ice
Marching through your outpost, causing outbursts
Caught you in your house, cold made your mouth hurt
Just saying my name is a federal offence
Now you fucking with the Hip Hop general whose attacks
Is indefendable, your weak spine is bendable
Your weak mind is pretendable
It wants to act sensible but lacks intelligence to pull it off
You only understand the bullet talk
Instead of talking that bull, you should've walked out my territory
My clever stories sever corny put-together measures lyrically
I'm like a terror orgy, you rap niggas *snores* bore me
Made me into this sword carryin', cord varyin'
Lord buryin' fraud barbarians
You know the gods twist it like Bavarian pretzels
Plus, I'm never respectful to those who are neglectful
Of their duty to civilize
As they minimize the power of a live mic
See, I maximize all cracks in their vibe, just to provide light
And only the strong survive, so I keep the rhyme tight

[Hook: Poetic]

[Verse 2: Poetic]
Modern scientists clone cows and sheep, just from grown cells
Manipulate nature where guns fail, war tactics vary
Our adversary has various ways to bury us ex-slaves
Of America, every day could be your last day
You could be blasted the fast way, caps stray, then ricochet
And flash gray matter, while you praying to the Father
Kissing the coba, kids in the corner is turning the streets into a sauna
In the black homes, while the black dome
Lacks the backbone to recapture the black phone
You got Aryans all up in your face
And y'all bugging off who got the fucking hottest mixtape
In New York state, war schemes, your plot to war Feds
And plot lace the block with crates full of Glocks
See, they got more fiends fiending for morphines and more rocks
Than Plymouth until it's hot for the timid street chemist
Got more bass than DJ's got bass-bins
Jakes'll pull a raid and stomp at the cops in combat
Mortals are charged like Raiden
You caught off guard, now armed guards excort you to court
Offices where officers offer certain deals
Which appeal to the snake mind
Yo, it ain't hard to find fakes: from clothes designs
To jewels, to mixtapes, to the way niggas rhyme
Yo, I'm fed up, me and the gods set up
So every other team get fucking wet up

[Hook: Poetic]

[Outro: Poetic]
Yo! Yo! I'm too hype to finish this shit! Yo!