[Intro: Tru-Mac]
Ayyo, Tru-Mac. I got the committee with me. Beware. It’s a world premiere

[Hook: Tru-Mac] (x4)
Emcees out there, you better stand clear
Yeah, yeah, it’s a world premiere

[Verse 1: Tru-Mac]
Yo, when my flows be dropping skills, y’all be sounding like
Fiends on the scene, copping krills and popping pills
And I’m really getting aggravated
‘Cause y’all rap ain’t going platinum but exaggerated
In this game, I’m in it for cheddar and forever
Bringing The Realness like Cormega. More better
Than your average veteran. Serving my medicine
My style is sicker than the snipers in Maryland
It’s not about them plaques you get and them stacks you flip
One rap on tracks’ll match your hit
I’ma leave you angry. Watch my name be hot
Tru-Mac’s Unpredictable like Jamie Foxx
All my rhymes switch up, kid. I’m guaranteed to get
Your hands in the air this year like a stick-up kid
Now give me the treatment that Tookie got
‘Cause I’m killing the beat, y’all, like a rookie cop

[Verse 2: Sav Killz]
It’s like I’m terminal and raw, spit from the core
Leave y’all all fiend out like y’all sniffing the pure
Be significant to this game—my style endure
I got lyrical skills, vocab, and more
Make ‘em all say my name: Sav Killz for sure
It’s like they don’t know until I kick down the door
And I ain’t clapping off no four-four—my mic let off
To make y’all fraud, frightened n***as step off. Come fast
On the draw, son. You know we got to dust one off
We underground understudent, all holding the torch
Y’all commercial n***as must die. I got no remorse
I’m fat when I see y’all faggots come from The Source
Made me want to spaz out and put a hole through your Porsche
Put one through a cylinder and make him a corpse
But I know somebody’s gonna feel the same about me
When I’m entering a club entrance, no ID
[Verse 3: Killah Priest]
My paintings, you see it, you read it, you weeded
Or sober. My sculpture of cultures when I’m holding the brush
Is over. It’s dipped in the blood of Christ, paint a thug life
With ink. Enter rhyme forums when minds storm
Floods of Noah. Buzzard and vultures in the street
They pack heat inside of denim holsters. The ministers
Spoke, so hold up. I’m having nightmares of Virgin Mary
Crying Christ tears. Wake up with white hairs
It’s centuries from light years. Scrolls are souls
Young and old, sons on parole, Israelite for light
Hold a pistol tight. You n***as leaning, sniffing crystal white
Burn out their nose hairs, lest hoes bear for the
“Oh yeahs.” The early eighties when the world made me crazy
To the nineties, I lost my mind, G. It’s hard to find me
I’ll smoke bags of ooey for two G’s
I’ll write on loose leaf. My slang is too deep, from Heavy
Mental to my old friends I buried inside in the temples
Beneath the wooden floors, I’ll tell you tales
Of the Brooklyn wars between Tilden and Marcus Garvey
Projects. I’m Mobb to the death
You nah’mean?