War In Heaven Pt. I

Rodan - “War In Heaven Pt. I”
[Emcee(s): Rodan]
[Producer(s): RAVAGE]

[Intro: Rodan]
Come on

[Verse 1: Rodan]
Yo, we don’t
Speak the same language, so you might need a translator for this, cousin
Sling syllables by the dozen, slick literary
Metaphor for popping slugs, pushing and copping drugs and
One-dimensional frame of reference made you think it wasn’t
Next time, try and consider the entire context before
Trying to make a judgement. Feel the shame of your guilt complex
Look in your face, see you’re jealous. Bet you wish these filthy crackers
Would try to put us back in chains and try to sell us
Bet you wish a mythological Prince of Darkness show up, we’re losing here
In contracts, put us on a bound-to-Hell bus
Analogies pertinent to these commercial industry shenanigans
Let out piss on your empire, heart turning black
No turning back like Anakin. It’s Rodan again, here to
Establish wealth with this rap shit. Peep the name, peep the
Strategy, it’s anti-gravity, lifting you up with empty
Gat clips, dedicated to false images on television
Faggot Klansmen never charged with terrorism
Innocent black man convicted and fills up the prisons. My only
Religion is self-preservation and anti-establishmen-
-tarianism, settle it with gats or fists, hand palms
Mask Glocks, eight bombs clap to this post-
-nuclear activist, Ten Percent take the ass-whipping
Like a world class masochist. Just ‘cause I was an underground rapper
You thought I was a backpacking pacifist?
Put extraneous pressure on the joints to increase the stretch of the muscle
Keep it subtle with the bare knuckle. No, nothing sweet
Lasts forever, so, every week, we get a different hustle
Dipped head-to-toe in Kevlar like it was Nike, create culture
To conquer the collective consciousness, American psyche
Mapping plans for steady sailing. One tran-
-saction, your world already failing. Support the group or rock
The solos like Eddie Van Halen or, better yet, Coltrane
And John kicking High Steps. What’s the science, clown?
That’s a strong man in your circus? I’ma shoot him in the biceps
Smack a gargoyle, jack him for his steroids
Annoyed, leave him destroyed, null and void. I write rhymes
Like scriptures, you write rhymes like fucking tabloids

[Verse 2: Rodan]
Been everywhere and back, and these fools are still steady doubting
Never realizing faith the size of a mustard seed can move the heaviest
Of mountains. Jewels I’m counting, but never cast pearls
To swine, Faggot Evil De-vines and prostitutes
In blue suits. Ten centuries from now, still burning down the booth
Saying, “Give it to me straight,” ‘cause, unlike Tom Cruise
I can handle the truth. A few good men on the verge of a third murder
To ride tracks and rock beats. We be the Ivy League
Caliber intellectuals that be loving the streets
Where the rare flare missiles crack on the middle of the Little Apple
Snatched off so much ice, made niggas wanna jump up
And land a triple axel. We never landed on Plymouth Rock
So fuck where the pilgrims settle. The point of impact
Keep you intoxicated from the smell of freshly oiled gunmetal
Soldiers assembling, cowards are trembling, remembering
Abolishing bullshit like I was Ro’ Waldo Emerson
Considering, so accustomed to running on one hundred
Percent adrenaline, disassembling feeble joints for the
Sharpness of needle points and stick it to a rap show critic
Still stacking crack-blow digits. Shit ain’t just
Ass-shaking and entertainment, it’s tantamount to rocket science
As intricate as astrophysics, infinite and
Afrocentric