Hok 2 Remix

[Intro: News Reporter]
Here outside the courtroom, we see that tensions haven't really eased that much in the Breez Evahflowin’ against Hip Hop trial. We hear he's brought in three star witnesses: Swave Sevah, Big Zoo, and Immortal Technique. As for what may develop today, no one knows. But we hear that the prosecutor is trying to bring the case to a close. Let's see what's going on inside

[Verse 1: Breez Evahflowin']
Yo, yo, when I be stressed, get irie blessed
Become a ten-headed dragon with fiery breath
Strip the flesh off your wiry chest
And play the game to the death ‘til the high recess
And even sober, it's over my man and
You ain't killing no one like Cobra's cannons
No understanding of divine divinity
The ministry, the rhyme refined for the trinity
Of Zoo, Sevah, and Immortal Technique
So advanced, live on the borders of next week
Talking 'bout you doubt I'ma win on this next piece?
Don't come/cum out your mouth like the chin on my ex freak
Rick slam a flow so sick in your headpiece
Get fans to sell little sisters to get seats
Black Static, this ain't even his best beat
Wait ‘til this shit become a full time job
Leave y'all rap niggas broke, talking 'bout "times hard"
Blind and scarred from collides with my squad
Bloody like foot of Bruce in Die Hard
Real life for your eyes, you’re finding, “My God
Why hast thou forsaken?”
I've been no short, taking since Biz made “Making
Music with Your Mouth.” Love is a house
I kick y'all out. Get the fuck out
This hip hop, nigga

[Verse 2: Swave Sevah]
You want to battle? How you want it? Freestyle or written?
I wouldn't lose to you if you wrote the verse I was spitting
Play your position or get hurt ‘til it blur your vision
Kid, you'll get knocked in your head so much you'll lose focus
Like, “Yo, you look dizzy. (Yo, you alright?). Let me help you a little
(Ayyo, you, you alright?). Aim for the Swave in the middle"
(I’m right here) But even if you do listen
You got no aim—point blank range and you still missing
My flows put a hole so big in your chest
You'll think it was caused by the projectile of a jet
My style is a threat. Smoke, pop bottles, get wet
The more polluted I am, the more violent I get
Weapon of choice? Any kind of writing utensil
Work wonders with the ink of a pen or the lead of a pencil
Memorize what I wrote, then spit it (Spit it)
Put emphasis on my action words so you don't forget it
Leave your ignant ass soaking in it. We're here to subtract
Wack off the face of the map and you going with it
I'm so committed. That's why I'm always out to brawl (What?)
And be slurring vulgarities out my mouth at y'all (Fuck y’all!)
Sure to burn like a lantern about to fall
Like rats with razors attracted to alcohol
What you wanna do now? This shit could get crucial
I'm persistent with new style and resistance is futile
My advice to you now is: try to elude feuding
And take everything I say as serious as school shootings (Columbine!)
If not, you’ll end up a statistic. Another target
That was marked for death I just scratched off my hit list

[Verse 3: Big Zoo]
Yo, I write night lights for cats to stay awake to
Brutal barbarian, black bear, break you
Four-hundred-and-fifty-degree style—bake you
I can only lead you to the water. I can't make you
Drink from the fountain of truth. You start spouting
The truth. Your fake friends start doubting the proof
I bring Stout in the booth when I feel dark
I got a bulletproof spirit and a steel heart
I got a cranium that's reinforced with titanium
Working to control these ill thoughts
That I fine tune whenever I write a fly tune
On point like gunshots, blast at high noon
Many moons ago when Zoo learned to flow
And first burned the show, the name grew. You know
I stayed with it, denounced the foul critics
I left cynics, all emcees who need gimmicks
They ride didicks. Emcees are sound mimics
The black bear acidic with the lyric. Now
On and on ‘til the break of the dawn of a new day
Emcees, we’re headed this way

[Verse 4: Immortal Technique]
Niggas think they smooth now but they need to be told
To never endeavor to ever go platinum or gold
Couldn't get any respect no matter how much you sold
The type to lose the battle and start acting five years old
Or play the role with gang images, trying to be trife
Your album's never coming out like niggas that's doing life
You try to leave the cyph', but Technique take you to trial
Exhibit A is the psychological profile of your style
You pretend you had it harder than the people in your clique
Always talking ‘bout your guns and the bitches you stick
But you was locked up in prison with a faggot sucking your dick
And cheating on your baby mom with anything you could hit
Claiming you got a record deal but can't rap for shit
You perpetual hypocrite. You failed to get the message like
Niggas that's illiterate. You're too drunk to talk
Look at the nonsense you spit. You sound ignorant like Five Percenters
Talking my ear off with a mouth full of Smirnoff
Stumbling, falling over. Bragging about expensive clothes
And your Range Rover. Motherfucker, come back and talk
To me when you're sober. You stay coked up like the first
Version of Coca Cola. But on every day out of the solar year
I'm the controller. And your life is going nowhere
Like a broken roller coaster. You don't own a gat. Your people use you
Like a gun holster. So put the mic down and cut the beatbox, nigga
Take off the fake Rolex and the Reeboks, nigga
The only biscuit you got is in a KFC box, nigga
The rigorous job of proving these niggas fictitious
Was handed down to Technique and Breez. We get vicious
I expose alleged hard rock niggas that turn snitches
And emcees that play themselves like cheap talking bitches
Talk about nonexistent riches because the label makes you
The same fucking label that monetarily rapes you
But I came to liberate you with socialist revolution. I'm Khmer Rouging
But you're weak, acting out in confusion. You're losing
So fuck having a truce with you ‘cause I don't care about the things
That you used to do, the airport that you supposedly boosted through
Or the pathetic hardcore drug abuse you do. Yo, I'm not an alcoholic
But I'm used to brew. But I wouldn't even drink a fucking deuce with you
We don't want to produce you. I'd rather watch you splatter
I'm the infinite dark matter that puts stars in their place
I’ll run with a DROP Squad of niggas saving my race
Stomp your backstabbing, coward ass into disgrace

[Interlude 1: News Reporter]
(Yeah!). As you can see, the court room’s exploding with excitement back here. (Come on, baby). I-I-I think they've made their case. (Whoo! Yeah, hip hop!)

[Outro: All]
Hok 2 spit (x3)
Y'all ain't shit