Industrial Revolution

Yeah nigga, Immortal Technique, metaphysics The bling-bling era was cute but it's about to be done I leave ya full of clips like the moon blockin' the sun My metaphors are dirty like herpes but harder to catch Like an escape tunnel in prison I started from scratch And now these parasites wanna percent of my ASCAP Tryin' to control perspective like an acid flashback But here's a quotable for every single record exec "Get your fuckin' hands out my pocket nigga" like Malcolm X But this ain't a movie, I'm not a fan or a groupie And I'm not that type of cat, you can afford to miss if you shoot me Curse to heavens and laugh when the sky electrocutes me Immortal Technique stuck in your thoughts darkening dreams No one's as good as me, they just got better marketing schemes I'll lead you to your own destruction like sparkin' a fiend Cuz you got jealousy in your voice like Starscream And that's the primary reason that I hate ya'll faggots I've been nice since niggas got killed over 8-ball jackets And Reebok Pumps that didn't do shit for the sneaker I'm a heatseaker with features that'll reach through the speaker And murder counter-revolutionaries personally Break a thermometer and force feed his kids mercury A&R's tried jerking me thinking they call shots Offered me a deal and a blanket full of smallpox You're all getting shot, you little fucking treacherous bitches This is the business, and ya'll ain't getting nothing for free And if you devils play broke, then I'm taking your company You can call it reparations or restitution Lock and load nigga, industrial revolution I want fifty three million dollars for my calloused hands Like the Bush administration gave to the Taliban And fuck packing grams nigga, learn to speak and behave You wanna spend twenty years as a government slave? Two million people in prison keep the government paid Stuck in a six by eight cell alive in the grave I was made by Revolution to speak to the masses Deep in the club toast the truth, reach for you glasses I'll burn an orphanage just to bring heat to you bastards Innocent deep in a casket, Colombian fashion Intoxicated off the flow like thugs passion You motherfuckers will never get me to stop blastin' You're better off asking Ariel Sharon for compassion You're better off begging for twenty points from a label You're better off battling cancer under telephone cables Technique chemically unstable, set to explode Foretold by the dead sea scrolls written in code So if your message ain't shit, fuck the records you sold Cause if you go platinum, it's got nothing to do with luck It just means that a million people are stupid as fuck Stuck in the underground, a general that rose to the limit Without distribution managers, a deal, or a gimmick Revolutionary Volume 2, murder the critics And leave your fucking body rotting for the roaches and crickets This is the business, and ya'll ain't getting nothing for free And if you devils play broke, then I'm taking your company You can call it reparations or restitution Lock and load nigga, industrial revolution