Yield, to the forces of darkness
I bring you the torches of our sh**
Reinforced with hardness of Wolverines
Arms with the harshness and overall sharpness
Now how far do the arms get?
My n***a, from the stars to the starfish
From the baby to the bomb
Its a whole lot of light and a whole lot of armlift
My arms long, but Im lawless
A strong arm, I can lift up all this
You gon have to build a bigger farm for us
To keep them wolves out of Old MacDonald barn, b**h
Yeah, Team Jacob
Were long armed, put my arms on a lear
Everytime I put my hands in the air
Watch the throne as I dance in the chair
Throw my crown in the crowd, hope it lands on the heir
The weak n***as like to pa** interfere
Spend a lot of lint over jams in the year
That act like the man up in here
That dont count when your only real fan is a mirror
Thats subliminal to any n***a that he feel he is too
But you dont stand a chance, playa
I am there, Chi-Town, fan of the Bears
Love where they dance in the square
Yeah, Yankees too, but only cause Granderson there
And now wears khaki pants on La Brea
We all friends, why your man lookin scared?
Turning whiter than Anderson hair
Came out the garage like he saw a phantom in there, huh
Oh sh** alert, Louis clothes
Callin women b**hes, Louboutin and Gucci shows
Well, I guess there goes my Louis shows
More o sh**, if your role models a movie role
And if you live your life like its a studio
Talkin to us like we mics, a bunch of you aint do befo
Electric fences for a urinal
Also keep a toaster in my jacuzzi, yo
Shock-a-zulu, call me Wasalu II
Oh sh**, man these record labels prostitute you
Strap them to sushi bars, and feed em lots of fugu
Catch a bad piece
You can stick that 360 between your a**cheeks
Artists lets mobilize and unionize like the athletes
Radio is making our craft weak
Forced to repeat the same dumb sh** that work
Only as hot as your last beat
And rappers, they relating to that last piece
Album never leave they desk if you dont got no B.D.S
Sacrifice your publishin, they said you really need a hook
And they aint gon pay you, said that you received a look
And whats stupid real, is what producers feel
Twenty placements or you stuck in that producer deal
And R&B chicks so get it the wildest
All they money goes to hairdressers and stylists
Gotta keep up with that image
Label lose they mind if they ever see a blemish
ProActiv impeals, airbrushers and trainers
Managers suggest you f** a n***a to be famous, huh
But its all entertainment
Wonder when Cobain blew out his brains, did he blame it?
And if those snakes in the industry helped him aim it
Started pressing up records before the bullet left the chamber
I fight evil, everyday Im livin
Rest in peace to men, women and the children
And middle fingers to the Pilgrims that k**ed em
Friend of the People, happy Thanksgiving