Fallen
[Instrumental]
s true All is lies Got to server Mental ties [Chorus:] Forget what you believe Break those chains Destruction of the past Violent change No gods No masters
We are what we own A faceless crowd Our collective soul Sold cheap Believing what we see Hero Mentality Generation Of human sheep Slaves of the machine
fight, let 'em rumble Don't make enemies with me I try to tell these motherfuckers they ain't see Don't make enemies with me Some say my criminal experience
Yo, pushin' a red Lex, mini screens in my headsets So much beef, police suprised I ain't dead yet I keep mad heat, under my passenger seat, to master
cryogenics East coast domination for the D-U-B massive Gathering at black masses to gain knowledge of the clashes of past rhythmic masters After the smoke
Bee, queen bee connection Live and direct Shaolin, BK, QB, Boogie Down, wherever you found Yo, yo, deadly venom is how we end 'em Mast avenge 'em, no
more, he's livin' heartless Regardless of the charges Claims to be the hardest individual Critical thoughts, criminal minded Blinded by illusion, findin' it confusin' Duel of the iron mic's (The master
Chorus: Allah sees everything, everything Allah sees everything, everything ... [p.r. terrorist] Yo, master thought inaudible to palms Swing ya magic
you need for Hell, the call of the cell times of sin arrives against their God Criminal deities throne from beyond time the black seraph gods Worship
, pushin' a red Lex, mini screens in my headsets So much beef, police suprised I ain't dead yet I keep mad heat, under my passenger seat, to master the
a beautiful thing A suitable king Deserving of the jewels and the rings That only flatters my appearance like the tulips in spring I'm cool with the gods
of the Iron Mic! It's the fifty-two fatal strikes! [Verse Two: Master Killer] This is not a eighty-five affair, made clear when the Gods get on to perform
nigs, upon bids, I warn kids Of my addiction, to exterminate ya fiction Beherets inherits slugs, when the asharons Bashed upon n fits the gods like the
wanted to be nuttin, but a criminal Wit braids, and doo-loo dropped out the eight grade Tradin rocks, mad obsessed wit guns, was infected Should of came amongst gods
I'm nice with my wordplay Master of all that I survey Standing on my square, firm, graph the journ' Trying to shake my foundation Nation of Gods & Earths