Perfect Crime

Verse 1: (Mantra)
Sub-terrain hurricane, I am the unexplained
Play your numbers I guarantee you the fun and games
Will fuck with your eyesight
Like a right hook to your blindside in a prize fight with iron Mike Tyson might
And I am the type that could happily die on the mic
I’m like TLC forever keep my left eye on the mic
Ima write this dynamite until the beat gets old
Til I’m retired or at least until my feet get cold
Til the respect fold. actually fuck it
If I was rapping for other people I’d have never begun it
I don‘t rap for the fans, I don’t rap for the critics
L rap for the love and I love it if you happen to feel it
A handful of kids are down to hang like a stalactite
It's not enough just having rhymes you gotta have the appetite
And that is why Mantra fly like a satellite
Keeping that shit live feed em rap to keep the fans alive

Chorus: (Mantra & Louis Logic) ...
Sentences so sick they should be serving time
We walk the line instead of working for a worthless dine
We should be in the pen for penning such perfect rhymes
(Mantra) Perpetrator of the perfect crime

This isn't something you can learn with time
This ain't the type of gold you can simply search and find
We should be in the pen for penning such perfect rhymes
(Louis Logic) Perpetrator of the perfect crime

Verse 2: (Louis Logic)
I never cut corners, still I’m well-rounded
On a search for perfect I got much warmer
And then I yelled “found it”!
But I hate ego and might as well drown it
In countless 12-ounces pounded til I find myself grounded
Down with weak sauce and half-efforts so common to rap records
Who the hell turns the heat off in bad weather?
Oh you write songs with the least thought? That's clever
Let's skip the peace talks and see which of us kicks ass better
L treasure the mean songs that I have done
It seems wrong but i guess the fans do too the way they pirate them
Your favourite hired gun who gets paid supplying fun ways to make a biting punk wanna take his life and jump
Jump up and get down
There's many a nut in the pub who love the sick sound
So put up 20 bucks on this round for the king down
Your head ain't big enough for this crown
(Chorus)

Verse 3: (Mantra and Louis Logic)
Still looking for worthy target, two good eggs in a bad market
Where a double act means a another rap slash scam artist
Ain't got no gats in the crew, but if you're asking to lose
You can Catch like Alan Arkin
We chase the light, but roam into the darkness
If home is where the heart is, then we'll open up your carcass
Even unconscious we speak brilliant nonsense
The monstrous Mandiggy and Louis Logic
2 truly unruly artists who came to break the mold
We liberated the cake it holds and ate it whole
We put a face on bold, the brave captains of innate rappin’
They wanna take our souls? It ain’t happenin’
I hope you ’re strapped into your chairs
Phone your chaplain and ask him to fit ya into his prayers
Folks are clappin’, rappers’ll begin to despair
Hope’s collapsin’ for tacklin’ such an infamous pair