702-386-5397

Canibus

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    [Intro]
    Yea, yea Can-I-Bus, Mic Club
    (Nothin' to prove it's all love)

    [Canibus:]
    I bust through like Sputnik 2
    This is man's best friend, whoopty-woo
    The flag is black, red, and blue
    True shoot from the hoopty
    Dogs jump out of dooly
    But it'll take more than that to move me
    Like; wireless mics for tireless nights
    Firefights inspire my life, why do I write?
    Twenty-year Hip-Hop vet, they perceive me as a threat
    They manifest beads of sweat
    Examine the blood trail
    Squeeze trigger puss drips out of the thumbnails
    I smell like gun shells
    Polonium, pandemonium with a dose of unknownium
    The Soviet Hugo Rodier
    Fourth generation roper report
    Everything I was taught bore resemblance to my thoughts
    The truth and design of the Guggenheim rhyme
    Where every line is weaponized then applied
    Mob shit, talk it acquisition is sick
    I don't miss when I twist the 556
    Stand there with arms folded
    Firearms make me look large and bloated
    ("I'ma gonna have to project my voice")
    Equipment check, church bells time
    ("Some of this stuff might get intense")
    One more time - Just kill 'em 'Bus
    Ain't nobody around to witness nothin'
    Heavens devil strangle Hell's Angel with a mic cable
    Then J Wells came through

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    [Sample from Nas @ the L.A. Listening Party on December 14th, 2006:]
    "Yo, the niggaz that use to have a nigga a little nervous was like;
    B.I.G., 'Pac, (Right), even Canibus, like Eminem them niggaz use to have me like
    If we go at it dawg we gotta go HARD!"

    "Yo, the niggaz that use to have a nigga a little nervous was like;
    B.I.G., 'Pac, (Right), even Canibus, like Eminem them niggaz use to have me like
    If we go at it dawg we gotta go HARD!"

    [Canibus:]
    Yea, yo
    I support a secure change of custody
    Don't trust the beat, trust me Canibus the emcee
    Without movin' my neck I turn to the left
    Yes I am the best you'll learn to respect
    'Til your death, Hip-Hop is the body, you are the chest
    I am the vest, we are sworn to protect
    This behavioural bomb rewritable radio songs
    "What station is your radio on?"
    My trainin' is worth millions
    Imam death squad rush the building
    From the frontline with Prince William
    I am Prince William's exercise cover and concealment
    Prohibit the media from filming
    Never in the moment, always thinkin' of the Omen
    I pause soldiers, nobody told them
    Inoculate; I postulate not your weight
    Drop to your face, the active component will not break
    My Omanium friend tried to pay me in Yen
    I threw the money in his face and said "Pay me again"
    You wanna talk to the kid? Enter this ten digit grid
    I'll explain to you what I did
    "702-386-5397", call, leave a message
    Y'all niggaz can't rap, so why you wanna go and do that?
    You move the crowd, I move the map
    The defying mad Lion, triumph over the rulers of Zion
    Fuck your "Blood Diamonds", I'd rather laugh dyin'
    Miners in the mine shaft cryin'
    "Apocalypto" from GITMO, I'll clash with the last Mayans
    The Sun stone science, the black, red and blue alliance
    Jump through the fire, you'd be a fool to try it
    The fire suit don't fit, NO SHIT!
    My Saratoga suit got a customized grip
    With a batwing released for both wrist and both feet
    Blazing high, but I don't feel no heat
    Hip-Hop's master chief, "Here, have a seat"
    In the mic booth where I hang slab the meat
    Before, during, or after debrief
    I'll crack your teeth, don't talk unless if asked to speak
    The Rift Valley Fever symptoms could last for weeks
    We call a hell in a cell, watch the bastard tweak
    Reach 80° degrees North, 14° degrees East
    Beneath the ice sheet lies the Spitzberg Beast
    Transmission distorted, injuries reported
    Mission aborted, follow your orders, move forward
    BRAVO! I fell in love with you Suzanne Malveaux
    On the down-low, know you know
    She talked to the Canibus man
    Code name: "Javelin Fangz"
    With "Nothing to Prove" to the rap fans
    Could've elaborate further but suffice to say
    "God damn that emcee made my day"
    He's a butcher, a baker, a vapour box maker from Jamaica
    Still talkin' trash to the haters
    I'll clash with the graders, this is major manual labour
    Beta test the data with blue lasers
    Canibus wavin' Alice, it's "Nothing to Lose" in Los Angeles
    Suing Hip-Hop for the damages
    G-4's, 10.4's, still conscious but not for long
    Missile lock-on; stop the song

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