| This is a conquest, so I suggest you take a rest
|
| Or keep a breath, but definitely keep a vest on that chest
|
| Rymes I’m packin, just like a thug at a car-jackin'
|
| Shoot off your hat when I start cappin, this is no actin
|
| G-A-N-G, S-T-A double R And you don’t want no trouble up in here, baby pa From the late-night drama, of the New York streets
|
| To the hoods of LA, real niggas likin Primo’s beats
|
| Put suckers on glass, send em, back to class
|
| And kick hot shit, so we can stack the Johnny Cash
|
| I brought the God, Rakim, lyrically gunning you wanna dash?
|
| I got Dub C, from South C, what you doubt me?
|
| Travellin through warzones with my infrared microphone
|
| In the year One Mill, destroying, enemies chromozones
|
| Words burn through flesh, leavin nothing but skeletal
|
| You best pay resepect to the legends, boy I’m tellin you, Militia
|
| --The illest-- --Realest-- --Representin--
|
| --Bringin the rukkus-- --Let it be known--
|
| --The illest-- --Realest-- --Word up--
|
| It’s The Militia -→Freddie Foxxx *repeat*
|
| Makin a move, makin a move, who’s that nigga thats makin a move?
|
| It’s the Shadiest rhymin'-back, actin’a motherfucking fool
|
| Four-four packers, my jackets? |
| hittin the tag? |
| saggin, baggin
|
| Foot on my rag, mess up a bag, leavin my enemies in bodybags
|
| You niggas was crackin, what y’all thought it wasn’t gon’happen?
|
| Dub C and my East Coast sisters gettin together rappin
|
| Gun-clappin, chump smackin, kiss the ring of your highness
|
| Look while I’m in New York City,
|
| walkin with two of the Brooklyn’s finest
|
| My two affiliates from the East we all bang
|
| But if y’all don’t mind, this is still Westside Connec’Gang
|
| Dress-code the same, just new pieces on my neck
|
| East Coast brownies, house shoes, and hair nets
|
| Y’all can’t see this, so peep the sister G is pushin a Six
|
| As I freak this, caviar GangStarr Militia remix
|
| It’s Dub C the jankiest loc', I’m runnin this here
|
| With the Guru and New York’s hardest, DJ Premier, Militia
|
| Yo, it’s The Master, mister, Musical Massacre
|
| Passion for disaster, paragraph ambassador
|
| R get the red carpet, just call me on Corner the market like the mic’s last name was Corleone
|
| The facade killer, come through your city like Godzilla
|
| Think of the sickest thing you ever seen, Ra’s iller
|
| My vision’s vicious, suspect suspicious
|
| Plans is ambitious, my motive’s malicious
|
| No interferin, if you ain’t down, you got to swearin
|
| And these cats they ain’t carin, habitat awarin
|
| Crack appearin, from out the track that I’m hearin
|
| It’s either that, or I’m going back to racketeering
|
| Yo, you should see me, I got a crew like Mussolini
|
| But Kool as Moe Dee, my flow be, smooth and easy
|
| For turnin? |
| area centers? |
| to wilers, you get the picture?
|
| Rakim is, the minist', with malice, Militia
|
| GangStarr, The R, Dub C, baby pa. |
| Straight up, check it out |