Heat Speakers - Demigodz

Motherfuckers better shut they mouth when the Godz spit rapid fire wisdom

Guns and grenades, my brigade consists of killer henchmen

There ain’t a nigga that’s liver, I’m a Gun & Ammo subscriber

That’s quick to burn numerous holes through your Avirex fibers

I’m on some mob shit, Cuban mafia conglomerate

Tommy Gun nozzle spittin' hollows tips, lauchin' like rocket ships

I got Glocks and clips that are damn near ready to chase you

A bullet with your name on it, eager to kill and erase you

My Demigodz swordsmen are trained to slice precisely

You should question wifey, why your children look just like me

Come out the closet 'cause I know your whole crew’s fag

I saw 'em on the corner, rockin' rainbow-colored do-rags

I rhyme fast and you just a bunch of slow herbs

You gettin' cuts and bruises trippin' over your own words

You better worship the barrel nigga, my Glock is holy

Re-fry your ass and serve you on a plate with guacamole

The MAC Don, my teeth cut through Teflon

I was raised draggin' bodies through the door sayin', «What's up mom?»

Niggas think I’m a vampire, I ain’t seen the sun since it was set on fire

I’m the fuckin' second comin' of Messiah

My promo manager didn’t know what he was in for

I’ll come to your town, rob the cash register at my in-store

I know Muslims that rather piss on the Koran in front of Farrakhan

Then try to fuck with me when I get my battle on

This is mic mastery, I massacre men automatically

Rapidly bringin' tragedy that shatter Grey’s Anatomy

Rhymin' like it’s '89, I’m slashin' through your cavalry

With Lou and Apathy, I got the Demigodz in back of me

So cross me, you’ll get stabbed like Jesus’s wrists

Cease and desist, even sober cats be pleadin' the 5th

Y’all bitches know who it is, I’m back from the dead

Your facts be off base like recoverin' crack heads

The heat speaker with Celph Titled the beat freaker

My fleets eager to fire Silver Bullets like Bob Sieger

To all God seekers, it’s the end of the road

My sentence is gold, the venom in my pen’ll explode

Penance is old, I’ll rhyme 'til I’m sick and disgusted

You’ll go out with a bang like a chick in a snuff flick

I flow with the slang, Esoteric commands shit

Responsible for more head bus’in' then public transit

You ever had a nightmare?

Yea you were at an open mic where

Your friends and family were watchin' through the bright lights glare

And I dared you to flow but you woke up screamin' in pain

And quite scared, only to find me standin' right there

A demon over your head, leanin' over your bed

To lead you closer to death while you dreamin' you overslept

I leisurely stole your breath like that kitten in Cat’s Eye

I’m that sly, the Klan will start wishin' they’re black guys

Tell your girl she should be slimmer her fat thighs

I slipped a disc in my back when was hittin' it last night

And last I checked, the main theme of livin' the rap life

Is to snatch mics like I don’t have mine yet

I want 1 for my hand, 2 Live on the stage

3 in the lab, 4 is a surplus, and 5 on the page

I want my face on the TV in every home in the country

'Til Mom’s so sick of seeing me she don’t even want me

You wanna battle for money, well I can spit it acapella

And probably make you drop a mil-li-on like Rocafella

'Cause tryin' to take the mic away from Ap when I’m spittin'

Is like Mya tryin' to wrestle Missy for a piece of chicken

My verses reverse Earth spinnin' on it’s axis

'Til wack rap acts wax starts spinin' backwards

I-am-the-illest-rap-cat-out

Now play the record forward and try to figure it out

Yo, I snatch profits and chips until my pocket rips

While y’all race through space in fake rocket ships

If I stay on my computer then I’ll start up the apocalypse

Simulating' nuclear war like Matthew Broderick’s

Ap used to be known for complex rap

Now I diss chicken heads like I’m Project Pat

Ladies I hypnotize 'til they let me lick their thighs

You can see those little heart shapes in your bitches eyes

I’m Don Juan, Es Caliente, Rico Suave

The Lone Ranger, y’all are like Tonto… Kimosabe

Tryin' to diss the champs but you missed your chance

You got so shook on stage that you pissed your pants

My hand grips 'til my fists get pistol cramps

You couldn’t relax if your raps were mystic chants like

(Ooommm) Tryin' to meditate or levitate

But make sure you standin' 50 feet back to detonate