Untitled Song #2

Nick Wiz ft. Nautilus - “Untitled Song #2”
[Emcee(s): Kaos and Mad]
[Producer(s): Nick Wiz]

[Verse 1: Kaos and (Mad)]
Kaos, the unsolicited tactician
Paragraph-flipping, leave your faggot ass ripping
Throwing claps to the squishy tracks for the
Mushy raps sounding like Josie and the Pussycats
But here it comes: the Kaotic individual
Melodical original, phenomenal residual
I’ll twist ‘em off like plastic tops with
Gymnastic props and shoot ‘em up like astronauts
But who knows what powers the fanatic?
Devours the dramatic when planting flowers in the attic
It’s one tough fact to follow, but you know the motto:
I’ll pull a number like the lotto in Colorado
Many get maimed in the level from the brain
Of the rebеl, the Tasmanian Devil
When I lеt the vernacular rip, I’m like
Packing a brick, I’m saying, “Whoo!” spectacular shit
Coming to get ‘em like I’m Venom, yo, it’s a habit
Peace to K.L., Low Cash, and Wisdomatic
So put the Venoms in position ‘cause you know
The best hook references this textbook definition
Is it your fault to assume that I rub
Salt in the wound and drink a quart on the moon?
Yo, M-A-D. (What up?) Is you pumping and potent? (Yeah)
Get on the mic and rip the party wide open

[Verse 2: Mad]
Deadly as a parasite transmitted through a satellite
Getting ill reviews, and that’s before I even grabbed the mic
Let the beat kick—like a pilot, I’ll get fly with it
Think you’re scoring? You’ll be joining Jordan in retirement
I don’t drive. I drink and rhyme and get reckless
Take a Mad verse, spread it on your toast at breakfast
Skills out the anus with the shit that blows you brainless
I’ll rob and lynch Robin Leach—fuck the rich and famous
Someone should call the lyrical police to come and arrest ya
You don’t wanna fuck around. I’m hanging niggas like air fresheners
Two hundred competitors, two hundred failures that took
Trips Down Under, and I don’t mean Australia
The sick, psychopathic type who shits in robes black and white
Niggas bitching ‘cause my styles are switching like a traffic light
One, two combination—dip before I tag your grill
Your shit is out-of-order. Here’s a quarter—get a bag of Skittles
Picture me giving you props—you’ll never get that impressive
Skills with the speech, but my development ain’t arrested
A farmer couldn’t dig in me, y’all bums are like piss to me
Fuck the Twin Towers—I’ll bomb the Statue of Liberty
You failed to understand I’ll break you proper when I strike ya
You couldn’t kick shit playing soccer with a diaper
No man can get with me. I’ll slam and get shifty, not to mention
The day that I get tossed, you’ll see Onyx with extensions
And it’s like that, motherfuckers