No Snakes Alive Pt. II

Rodan ft. Shaman - “No Snakes Alive Pt. II”
[Emcee(s): Rodan]
[Producer(s): X-Ray Da Mindbenda]
[Hook/Vocals: Shaman]
[Sample (Interpolatation): Carole King - “It’s Too Late”]

[Intro: Shaman]
It’s too late
It’s too late

[Hook: Shaman] (x2)
It’s too late, snake nigga
It’s too late, but you
Really did try to
Fake it, but when I
Bust you, you died. You tried to
Hide and slide, but your
Fake bullshit, I can’t
Take it, no

[Verse: Rodan]
Ayyo
I operate off a different set of principle than yours like the Fin to the Moors
Two-faced tricks watching smoke and mirrors, beware of revolving doors
Snakeologist camouflaging seasons like summer-green
And winter-blue. The gods need you for an interview, and I don’t think
They’re into you, charge the crowds to get the tribunal like any good
Ten-Percent sinner do, draped in plush leathers filled with feathers
Live up to the measure, the pressure to stay fresher. Had shit
More logical than 2Pac and Mr. Spock put together. Black
Brown, and beige skin tone, house arrest connected to his shin bone
Spike ‘em in the endzone, leave ‘em spazzing out like
Epileptics with Tourette’s syndrome, known to bark a lot and blow steam
Cold spots getting slow cream, cheerleading the con-
-frontation, yelling, “Go team!” Saw his man die, one bullet
Through the eye like Moe Greene, Byzantine-cut tuxedo
Spotlight’s a drug you thought for a placebo. Shooting me
I knock down bitch style—peep funk through a solid-gold needle
Quoting the latest rap cliché, rambling some “he-say”
“She-say,” talk gold-burgundy-gray lizard skins on his
B-day, or they’re snitching through it to his best friend
Make you wanna blow ‘em like the West wind. Brain on cryogenics, screaming
“Sky’s the limit,” surrounded by loose women and yes-men
Pay attention to the prison rule. Listen, fool, here go the missing
Jewel: sacrifice your ice today, tomorrow, establish a palace
Like in ancient Istanbul, perpetrate and rearrange your border
Crooked jeweler with the banging daughter, Jewishberg popped
In a bed in Louisburg, wipe your ass with the subpoena, blow your nose
With the restraining order. In love with Ecstasy since she was
Eighteen, tied to the bedposts like a slave thing
Insomniac, crying hypochondriac, queen of the new wave
Rave scene—enough said—the conversation’s dead. Extortion at
The one spot, we get it on at the gun shop. What’s the verdict?
Eating Spam on sandwich with flicks of Godzilla on your lunchbox
Thorough cats catch a rush from flashing cops
Blasting blots, slashing rocks, had ‘em splashing-hot
Do ‘em like OJ Simpson, take off a ledge and break ‘em back down
To laughingstock. Sports facility trilogy, Ali Frasier
Southpaw about to catch it in the mouth, pa. Niggas hitting
Hard like Earnie Shavers—you know these niggas gotta earn
Fuck those bridges—let ‘em burn. Uncle a kung-fu legend from Roosevelt
Back in the day, used to fuck up Howard Stern. Under
Searchlights, losing blood by the pints, Gotti hole-y/holy like
A church night, toss the minds in a leap year, February 29th
Date of a snake nigga—now that little pimp’s dead
Buried in Greenville Cemetery, quarter-mile straight out of Hempstead
Snake motherfucker!