Run the Sphere v.2.3 (Theophany: The Book of Elevations Version)

Rodan ft. Monsta Island Czars (ft. Kong, Loch Ness, Rodan, Megalon, King Cesar, Kamackeris, King Geedorah, and Jet Jaguar) - “Run the Sphere v.2.3 (Theophany: The Book of Elevations Version)”
[Emcee(s): Kong, Loch Ness, Rodan, Megalon, King Cesar, Kamackeris, King Geedorah, and Jet Jaguar]
[Producer(s): X-Ray Da Mindbenda]

[Verse 1: Kong]
We got
The Glocks cocked, niggas stuck slow, fuck slow. Smack
The shit out ‘em, should have called Brickface and Stucco
“Uh oh!” like Maaco, some nickel pesos in the NY
Adore West, they fly flows and ask, “Kong, can I?”
Slash precise, I roll with Spice, caught a life, head
To Houston without Whitney—you could even ask the preacher’s wife
Blao, back ‘em up. Fuck the grammar—that’s word to kill
I dropped Evander ‘cause he’s standing on my Holyfields
Slash M-E-L, yo, K slash M-E
‘Cause emcees often envy the vocal style ten-deep
One two, mic check. Next one step up
Speedy K slashed, your fucking Heinz couldn’t Ketchup

[Verse 2: Loch Ness]
Hold up
Those that knows I knows I gots no time talking
Recognize bullseye nigga. Closed eyes
Ain’t always sleep, nigga. Evidently, I
Be L-O-C-Ness, the finesse, you find Ness
Trooping the streets, awaiting death, but now you face me
The murderous sounds that lounge on wax. Use my lyrics
As my carpet when opponents chose the motive for me to know that
To cock back, release my... y’all niggas stop that
Raise the stakes, release contact

[Verse 3: Rodan]
The world’s indictment of my
Mathematics made me a control freak—witness the foulest shit
And I integrate calculus in every word I speak, geometric
Motion’s in every action I see. You got a mean streak?
You ass like butt cheeks up shit’s creak, make your future bleak
Life on drunken binges. Wild maverick on the out-
-skirts of society fringes, hanging onto the door of
Sanity by the hinges, interdimension transmission
Transitions, charge the heartless a dollar-and-a-half, buck fifty
That’s a facial circumcision. Rest in peace, Big L
Big Pun, Biggie Smalls, Freaky Tah, and 2Pac
Allah blessed David Force, Family Haze, Tigger, Tony Mone, and
DJ Subroc. Y’all snitching cow motherfuckers
Suck a fat cock

[Verse 4: Megalon]
Streetlights
With cameras, I’ll walk the beat like Beast that can’t stand us. Hand-to-hand
Gram-handlers, scanners and scramblers, street-life
Gamblers, Tommy Mantana—word to nana—banana clips going
Bananas in the land of guzzle, bust holes in bandanas, snub-nosed
Blood on my clothes, cancer, lap dances, Black
Panthers, three dot branding us, street fights
With hammers, black and Spanish Zlatans and blacks with bad
Manners and bandages dance to this, bust hoes and mark
The cannons

[Verse 5: King Cesar]
Ayyo
I spit fast like whiplash and I dash when I dip class
My shit last like good stash, type of hype make your whip crash
Sniff coke and smoke grass, suck-dick and kiss-ass
Break glass and breakdance, break law and take chance
Yo, yo, exit to the next shit. It’s real
I’ll saw you into pieces like Richie Aprile
I’ll shit on you just like my fucking Loud deal
Introducing King Cesar with the dogface grill
Fifty meters tall, thirty-thousand tons
Representing full-circle for my Monsta Island duns

[Verse 6: Kamackeris]
We’re some underground brothers on a bubble. What you want?
Trouble? Have you underneath in the rubble, yo
I’ll drug you with these nicks, dime bags
And eight-balls. No mistake, y’all, we break y’all
All it is is a phone call—we’ll be right
There, shorty in the back know this thing ain’t
Fair, but we don’t care. Somebody should have
Let you know: we show love and, sometimes, yo
We let it go. It be harder than death row
While y’all niggas rhyming so-so, we cop divine
Dough

[Verse 7: King Geedorah]
It’s the one King Geedorah, the three who closed the deal for
Eleven million lira. She looked like Vera brother
She had the fatty but an ugly motherfucker who stay up
In the mirror forever. It’s all clever
Whatever floats your rowboat, specialist in our ears
No stroke, the hoes vote, bald-headed coochies to the
Hoochies with the titties that fall flat, people looking
Pretty and all that

[Verse 8: Jet Jaguar]
Quake
Beats like Earth with profanity and sanity
Musical exorcism haunting tracks like it’s Amity
Niggas we’re burning, intentions affirming
As the beat rocks and we plot on competition
Mic’s a MAC-11, add the vocal ammunition, ass-
-whippings are dished to those who feel better
Get ‘em. We cock the mic back and then we wet ‘em
Brain-burner microwave thoughts like it’s Swanson
Fast learner accumulate units until it’s platinum
Defeat us? Come on, nigga, that shit ain’t happening
Fuck the rapping shit. Avoid me
‘Cause when I’m paranoid, motherfucker, I be capping shit
I’m mapping out shit, my man, plans to become
Millionaires before we disappear from this atmosphere