No Way

[Hook: Cecil Otter]
We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceiling
And this axe that we're wielding
Will react when we're feeling that
Crack, attack, attack, and we're on on you like like a Mack Truck
Your honor, we are that fucking filthy

[Verse 1: Sims]
It's 2000 and self destruct and everybody's yelling that shit is all fucked
Yuck, I never liked the construct of that square wheel, like "money ain't real"
Wait, but that ain't real. Oh, now I get it
We could take it all and split it, give it to the village
Doomtree villains out for the killing, no kidding
Good man but I went a bit bitter when they took a little bit of the dinner off my plate
High stakes, okay, Ill play, but it ain't your game
And it ain't your rules and it ain't your world, and I brought my crew
We some dirty lip fuck your rules living ugly goons
It's no kings, no way, You're so vain, you probably think it's about you
Well it is and it ain't, and it ain't but it is
I go so fucking nasty no restraint
Well I get props and I play it off, I see them hot and I fade them all
Hello world it's L.O.P. B.T.Z., keep your ring
Move out of my way, let me do my thing
Let me do my thing, I'mma do my thing

[Verse 2: Mike Mictlan]
Friction lock rivet
Goonish as all fuck, prudent to all stunts
Proving the laws of logarithm like the wag of a dog's tail
Bark back, woof! Light the rag on your cocktail
SPart that, champ on that slang chop
Chump on that chomp rap, probably a stomp sack
Man, give me my prop back
Hold your tooth to my non dap, I ain't no Diddy boy
That Beni know we go scrimp dance
Dougie, don't stop that!
Senor Frreal Z three R zero
None other, who's cooler, hula-hooping through bank zeroes
Hewlett packing, loogie yacking on Don Hero's
Bomb appearance, nights in Paris, raw dogging cross limos
Toss demos, snot rockets blow up the sub-labels
Long tables, calling shots on a crowd potato
The slang mongrel with fanged tonsils
We slay goblins gangly gang violent
Wrangling fake monsters

[Hook: Cecil Otter]
We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceiling
And this axe that we're wielding
Will react when we're feeling that
Crack, attack, attack, and we're on on you like like a Mack Truck
Your honor, we are that fucking filthy

[Verse 3: P.O.S.]
What's up? No kings, no love for your made up things
In the paint but it ain't no game on the wall with a little complaint
Leave that stain, weave through cities dodging rain
No thing but an open door, it's yours
No lie but you've got to get dirty man fix your pride
We some preach them real, reach them, steal them from low ideals type dudes
With a stepped up set of skills and an ick style so kill that wills update daily
No frills or pilled up babies
No posture phony just rock solid un-fuck-with-able dropped knowledge
No love for the bull horns give them
Throns get them in, swarm, let me make friends with a storm
Buddy get up close to the war
Insides out, no love for the boring
Naw, bored, and I bet the hearts off beating
Under hardwood flooring, poor man's Poe

[Hook]