[Verse 1: Ill Bill]

I’m the problem and the solution
The revolution won’t be televised, it’s too [bad word] Too gangster, too graphic for you born-again [bad word] My words inspire people like the [bad word] I floss with diamond teeth, SCUBA dive on a private beach
Billy Idol smoke chronic with Cheech
I cut your tongue out for talking against me
My enemies’ grandchildren will remember me for centuries
The fine line between insanity and genius
Murder you, I give your reality a remix
Humanity’s beneath us, we super humans
Super tyrants, super violent, listen to the way my nine click
Right before I pop your collar
The most hated from New York like I shot your [bad word] me to [bad word] for dollars
Canarsie Osama, riding with a ? of martyrs, [bad word]  [bad word]  Everlast x 2]

Hardcore chemical, gangster material
Tri-city machine bang in your stereo
Put em up, shut em down
Keep it raw, riding with the gutter sound

[Verse 2: Everlast]

The thicker the plot, the quicker the shot, the liquor and pot
Got me higher than the Denver junkie, shocking the monkey
Feeding his habit, set it up, cook it up, tie it off and stab it
Shoot it up, feel [bad word] then throw up your guts
Nod out for a while cause the Style is nuts, like Almond Roca — [bad word] Coka
Those other cats fake it with that baking soda

[Verse 3: Danny Boy]

This is it, this is it, yeah I’m back on the [bad word] again
(Slaine: Danny Boy, Danny Boy, you ever gonna spit again?)
C’mon homie you know me, yeah I birthed your style
The money-back guarantee, I make it worth your while
Still the Cadillac King, I don’t [bad word] with foreign cars
American, I need a [bad word] and a [bad word] star
Nobody move, no not one punk
I [bad word] around and pull out my shotgun pump
 [bad word] x 2]

[Verse 4: Slaine]

Yeah dope [bad word] I came back to spit
Move with the hunger fueled by a lack of chips
When I lose my cool and shoot it’s accurate
Give me some room, I make yous move back a bit
I came from a town where the hope can drown
Bought a teaspoon ? from the dope and found
With their necks tied up and the rope around
Eighties cars overheated broken down
Car-thieving heathen, living where no odds or even
Gambling fist fighters watching the kid bobbing and weaving
Everybody scheming, we all deceiving
I wrote my words on the walls of mausoleums
Now I stand in a position of strength
So I speak for those who can’t, I spit what I think
I’m from the city where [bad word] were sticking the pigs
I rep the Irish street cats and the micks in the clink, c’mon
 [bad word] x 2]