[Chorus x2: Thea Van Seijen]

[Chorus x2: Thea Van Seijen]
 Bloody samurai, my feet will never die
 Bloody samurai, my sword will never die

 [Crisis:]
 Yeah, I'm like daredevils, I dare devils to take it to that level
 Make 'em dig they own grave, with they own shovels
 Sharpshooter drop helicopters, black out shadows
 Cause when it's time to ride, it's like pedal to the metal
 Full fledged, beat suicidal, leave holes with skull heads
 Hit your cult for your vote, leave 'em all dead
 And some, Knights like games, plus handsome
 Hoes hold me ransom, you mad and throw tantrums
 Seven braids like Samson, strength of Jobe
 Since these niggas wanna trip, I make it all unfold
 Didn't choose the genie, didn't choose the leprechaun
 Niggas better watch the grapes, like they stepping on
 Thinking it's a game, I rose him, now your [bad word] is frozen
 Nuclear explosion, we straight West Coasting

 [Thea Van Seijen:]
 I was born as a soldier, and I'll fight in a field
 I'll run like a hunter, and I'll die in the field

 [Chorus x2]

 [Rugged Monk:]
 The street apostle with Roscoe's, that'll burn flesh off your fossil
 Make you suck on that nozzle, 'fore you swallow these hollows
 Clutching a bottle, yeah, I'm a hard act to follow
 [bad word]  I don't write raps, little homey, I write novels
 Every chapter I capture, the mind of millions
 When I slang raps like crack, to the women and children
 Bring down the building, crime wars, oh what a feeling
 Feels good like I'm puffing on that sticky chameleon
 The street villain, made most of his money from drug dealing
 It's rules to the game, trust nobody that's squealing
 Cause snitching is a pet peeve, like a [bad word] with a bad weave
 It's not honor amongst thieves, [bad word] deal with greed
 I'm from a breed of real killas, that's cutthroat
 That'll front you to work and kill you if a buck short
 Bloodsport, flick you like the butt of my Newport
 Or with the butt of my gun, take that, [bad word]  run

 [Dexter Wiggles:]
 I come to stop the hollering and screaming, blaow
 Stop screaming, make a [bad word] wish he still dreaming
 Since appearing against a ninja, taught him barbarianism
 South Central mentalism, like the local news on the local high school
 For all this realism, don't let all the whites go there
 Cause all the whites'll go there, have 'em all braiding they hair
 And having tattoos, and street numbers instead of good grades from school
 It's like ridicule, and what would Jesus do?
 If he was standing at apartment, he was beeping with that dizzle
 Like a hole ain't enough to end all ridicule
 But a ho'll get real holy enough to preach and end you

 [Chorus x2]

 [sample:]
 If you win, I'll tell you where to find the number two
 If I win, I have your head
 Do we have a deal?