I'm from the family Sick Symphonies underground crowds are into me 
Got out the industry 'cause the label became my enemy 
It wasn't meant to be the machine was just trying to censor me 
Didn't do it for Sony so they ended up releasing me 
Independent no longer locked down for an infinity 
So my vicinity remains [bad word] to my identity 
Sick Jacken exploiting the sound verbal attacking ear [bad word] 
From where you're standing you'll catch the rapping 
Music Of The Mask infiltrate past blast out your loud speaker 
Haters get [bad word] we get the last laugh like Bloodstone 
Look at the picture tell me what's wrong 
Earthquake weather turned LA into a flood zone 
We dry it [bad word] with the raw when we transmit the rhyme network 
Psycho Realm that's my conecta 

Sick [bad word] backing the music with [bad word] 
And now we're taking over the scene we're straight thugs 
Hit the exit move the package as we get it 
Sick dogs push in the gates and invade it 
Moving the revolution through using 
All kinds of musical forms of confusion 
You win the area battle raw fusion 
And fights that light up the night and [bad word] 
For street teams caught in youth groups of two's and three's 
Means they're shooting soldiers into the county 

Radio alerting the streets reach those available 
Decide which way to go and which not we move unfadable 
Unbreakable underground sounds will be invading you 
There's nothing you could do we're breaking through 

We move through kingdoms of violent silent weapons 
Employ those firing 
We're dying 
While the puppet master's jerking strings smiling we're fighting 
In the street ring not even defying the plan 
They set the money bait and we're biting 
We document images on song using vocal print 
On how you get prepared to go to war against the monument 
It's always been and will always be crooked government 
Controlling the [bad word] [bad word] while we're gunning it 
Die on it bleed with more numbers than we succeed 
Statistics recording the growth of the bad seed 
Moving through streets packing my piece watching for peace [bad word] 
And the [bad word] on the police don't cease 
Is there an ending before decease? 
Or is death the only exit buried and then released? 

Moving through streets we see enemy forces 
We drop multi bombs and then flee  [bad word] will reach defeat 
And targets in my mission will die technically 
Physically bringing you storm it's on 
'Til the end of the war has been won you've been warned 
Swarm with the strength of [bad word] psyclones 
And police crews get introduced to straight harm 
Abused 'cause you want me to lose 
They're to protect and serve but never to follow [bad word] 
Street soldiers refuse  [bad word] in the midst of hate with the fate then you're through 

Radio alerting the streets reach those available 
Decide which way to go and which not we move unfadable 
Unbreakable underground sounds will be invading you 
There's nothing you could do we're breaking through