What Hip Hop Is

Yo
You're not as cold as me, motherfucker, stop pretendin'
I'll murder you in front of your crib like John Lennon
Rip the tendons outta your muscle to cut the tension
I'm beyond your comprehension
Like related subatomic particles in fifth dimensions
Suspension in your breathing is what I'm leaving
Until a legion of demons whisper the meaning of life in ya ear
Right before they make ya motherfucking life disappear
But just cause you hear the multi-syllabic gramatical
Don't compare me to rappers that are on sabbatical
Cause I never did business in Little Fucking Italy
I play checkers on triple-decker tour buses in Tripoli
The way that you typically bicker with me, inexplicably
Is a mystery that pisses me off ridiculously
Because I'm lyrically beyond your level, scientifically
Specifically, spitting out the spic in me, prolifically
Im the majority of America, futuristically
After I die, fuck my music, you'll feel me spiritually
Darker than Sicily, rippin above the averages
You hold no weight, like bitches after miscarriages
And your label produces no kids like gay marriages
I'm disparaging every fake thug rapper in sight
That's why your faggot ass will never make it into the light
I'll crack your skull when I smash your face into the mic
And now you know what I'm like
I'll Suge Knight the industry
I feel like the spirit of Nat Turner got into me
You're infinitely hopless
You sound like shit when you spit live like Jennifer Lopez
I'll massacre a rich rapper and all his broke friends
And go to Club Cheetah, rockin' some blood-soaked Timbs
Party-crashin' animal, fuckin' model bitches
Leavin' their stick-figure anorexic pussy in stitches
My verbal blitz will outshine your offense, you're watered-down nonsense
And I'm 200-proof chockin' a local youth in his home-made vocal booth
You're a fucking incompetent killer like Rae Carruth
And I'm Technique, the rawest nigga ever produced
I spit nastier than regurgitating period juice
So burn your fucking rhymebook, stay warm, and put it to good use
I'm bout to drop like frozen airplane shit through ya roof
And I'm sick of fake hustlers telling lies to the youth
You never robbed Dominicans
And you couldn't sling rocks if you was Palestinian
You broke motherfucker, you cats don't burn rubber
You niggas can't even get a fuckin' cab like Danny Glover
You ain't hardcore, I'll smack the shit outta your mother
You wanna be gutter? I'll leave you laid out in the street
Signed: Yours truly, the motherfucking Immortal Technique