Lay Me Down

[Intro]
S-A-double-Y-I-D-B-E-A-N-S-E-B
These haters wanna
And they think they gonna
Lay me down
Never

[Verse 1: High Priest]
Hold that
I'm banging 'til your eyes roll back
To be awaken from that permanent nap
If you think you gonna lay me down, you must be mistaken
I'm taking back a art forsaken
The streets patiently waiting for us to take 'em
With paramilitary precision
The bars, lift from the God
Give him vision to do it different
The gift and the curse
Shiftin' the verse, lifting the curse
Voices calling out, in reverse
Livin' the verse 'til the last become first
A thousand megahertz, your body jerks
The volts animate that
Nerves, depend swerves
But in the end, it serves the greater good
The haters wishing they could
Subliminally, I'm wishing they would

[Verse 2: Beans]
Call me Obama
The best intentions asserts the comedy
You know my occupation is professionally ill
Like don't touch, written in braille
Aim yo' money guns at me
Y'all is warm tap water tasting, unfazed me
The noose fits nicely
I'm ice tea, can't spite me
Touch a button, your future alphabetics in the blizzard
About to boo-boo on somebody tonight
Who sliced like a knife in the eleven hour of night
He spread a tantrum in the fit of love
A turntable as the world turns
Reign attempts to cleanse the city of sin
Heartbroken when the bad guys win
The apron on the cannibal reads
"Sister cooking and taste-testin' the flesh, so fresh"
Blood is the new black, we're black, my cemetery talk bury you
Caught up the amateur and quick to give it up and then it blows up
And everyone wonders why music sucks
(Who's idea needs a new bulb?)
Bring wave, barely a ripple
[?] you with a brilliance
A bison on beats
Caught you on the ways, I'm prepared
Up in ya underwear, from outta nowhere
I'm like conservatives with toilet paper, countin' every square
Seven [?] severe, plagued by the idea
With the shovel (You diggin' it?)
How I kick this, spittin' under script hard
Like the record skip while you follow a script

[Verse 3: M. Sayyid]
Like a purple lackin' the apple, I'm born to mack
Steve Job, the beat play God on the track
Genocide sinisters, turn these niggas to miniatures
Like I came thru with signatures, couple bitches in ministers
I'm just here for the game, no practice and scrimmages
Not the fame, just the images and some twisted appendages
Gettin' low on some Guinnesses
While the beat never finishes, then it's
Where we goin, Father? Farther
Away from the wack juice, close to the altar
My cult, they stay with me
Gather in a circle and shine like six fifty
I. L. Benz white coupe, I'm so crispy
Protected from the voodoo and Zulu mass against me
Gently brushing my shoulders through the century
Always suspicious over streets, I don't sleep
Spike Wrist and Sid Vicious all over the beat