Son of a Bitch

New Rap Order (ft. King Guttah 1st) - “Son of a Bitch”
[Emcee(s): King Guttah 1st (AKA !LLumiN@TE)]
[Producer(s): Jah C]
[Sample (Multiple Elements): Lalo Schifrin - “Danube Incident” (0:00)]

[Verse 1: King Guttah 1st (AKA !LLumiN@TE)]
To whom this may or may not concern
You fuck with my clique, you dicks got to burn
(Gotta learn) Here’s a lesson you pricks got to learn
If you step, come correct. Respect must be earned
And please do not say a name from the Order
That will only make your career shorter instantly
Mentally, you’re pathetic, and lyrically, realistically
You ain’t on our level, so quit it before you’re history. See?
I end the misery of phony emcees. You don’t
Want beef, your flows is bologna and cheese, so please
Without a pencil, I dimple an instrumental on my principles
And if I offend you, it’s ‘cause I meant to. It’s simple
If it’s a problem, I’d have solved it, you gon’ take a loss
I don’t touch my shoulders, I just Harlem Shake a hater off
Regardless, all you niggas is Charmin-toilet-paper-soft
You’re barking up the wrong tree, sparking up the wrong weed
You know you’re fronting, and harmless stunting’s nothing but corned beef
You gwan make armed ‘litias vision with harm’s reach
I’m 6’2”, 250, solid as concrete
You’re lightweight. We’re the heavier crew, young niggas
That kick more shit than Freddy Adu (Yo, how we)
(Do it?) Rip more flow than oceans, spoken
Rap water. Back, I put words in motion
What’s the commotion? Uh! With hand, we motion

[Hook: King Guttah 1st (AKA !LLumiN@TE)]
You see?
The mic is sort of like a gun in my grip
Or a sword sharp enough to cut the tongue of a snitch, so I don’t
Think this nigga wanna persist, but OK! (OK!)
You wanna play, you little son of a bitch? My flow
Could put a hole in the image that you wanna depict
Now ask yourself if you wanna exist. Then, if so
You should button your lips up, OK?!? (OK?!?)
Watch what you say, you little son of a bitch

[Verse 2: King Guttah 1st (AKA !LLumiN@TE)]
Yo, fuck
The drama. I paid my dues, I’m from the hood, but my
Mama ain’t raised no fool, I got the goods
I should put your ass on blast. Writing checks with your mouth
That your ass can’t cash—is that a concept
Your ass can’t grasp? I guess so. Nigga, let’s go
You needed attention? I’ma make you feel special
Man, you’re petro. Your best flow hard? I let it slide
Like a MetroCard, I’m Unlimited
The only thing you spewing is dumb ignorance
We rap tougher, you can’t shine, you lackluster
It makes me wonder, “Why would you pop manure?” I guess
That liquor got you feeling 2Pac-secure, correct?
You a failed fairy, you should say your Hail Marys
To Our Father ‘cause you ain’t ready to die a martyr
And I slaughter. Guttah Man, I spit proper
Like I been shot with the stigmata of Big Poppa

[Hook: King Guttah 1st (AKA !LLumiN@TE)]
You see?
The mic is sort of like a gun in my grip
Or a sword sharp enough to cut the tongue of a snitch, so I don’t
Think this nigga wanna persist, but OK! (OK!)
You wanna play, you little son of a bitch? My flow
Could put a hole in the image that you wanna depict
Now ask yourself if you wanna exist. Then, if so
You should button your lips up, OK?!? (OK?!?)
Watch what you say, you little son of a bitch

[Bridge: King Guttah 1st (AKA !LLumiN@TE)] (x2)
We knocked off the hinges, they can’t lock the doors
The New is Rap Order, we’ll not be ignored
They can’t stall our shine, we’re too tall to climb
Too wide to go around. That’s right, it’s going down

[Verse 3: King Guttah 1st (AKA !LLumiN@TE)]
I guess it’s just the way I’m designed. I’m from Harlem
So you know I ain’t afraid of a grind
Give me your label—that’s the only way I’ma sign
Matter of fact, scrap that. We can make it just fine without it
Don’t even doubt it, we’re ‘bout it beyond a reason
My speech pitch can move you like deac’ flips, so watch as I
Abuse this beat. Every rule is breaking. I don’t speak
I impeach, it’s a New administration today
Play, rewind as I change the time. I shine
So pass all of the crap, fast-forward in rap
Have 8-tracks killed your emcee dreams on tape decks?
CD players, and MP3s with ease
These words fade ya like turntables. Check the flavor
I’m itching with flows—don’t make me scratch on your record player
Second nature, I spit fumes, you catch the vapors
They’re gonna find it hard to regulate us. We’re ‘bout
To flood ‘em with our contraband and shut ‘em down. I’m a
Motherfucking monster, man. Understand. We’re ‘bout
To flood ‘em with our contraband and shut ‘em down. I’m a
Motherfucking monster, man. Understand