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Hidden Track

This song is by Justin Timberlake.

Oh, you mother fuckers thought it was over, huh
Well, it's not, you didn't count on a fallen angel
Getting back into the grace of God and coming after you

Y'all niggaz ain't shit, your producers ain't shit
Your fucking A&R ain't shit
I'll fucking wipe my ass with your demo deal
Yo, Diabolic, take this mother fucker's head off

Go ahead and grip glocks
I'll snap your trigger finger in six spots
You'll have to lip lock
With hypodermic needles to lick shots
I'll watch you topple flat
Put away your rings and holla back

Can't freestyle, you're screwed off the top like bottle caps
Beneath the surface
I'm over heating your receiving circuits
By unleashing deeper verses than priests speak in churches

What you preach is worthless
Your worship defeat the purpose
Like President Bush taking bullets for the Secret Service
Beyond what y'all fathom
I shit on cats and jaw tap at 'em

Show no compassion like having a straight faced orgasm
Tour jack at 'em
Have his half a ten, bitch suck my friend's dick
In the mean time, you can French kiss this clenched fist

Diabolic, a one man brigade spreading cancer plague
This fucking a pussy's face, holding a hand grenade
So if I catch you bluffin', faggot, you're less than nothing
I just had to get that stress off my chest like breast reduction

You mother fuckers are nothing
You cannot harm me
I'll resurrect every aborted baby and start an army
Storm the planet hunting you down 'cause I'm on a mission

To split your body into a billion one-celled organisms
Immortal Technique will destroy your religion, you stupid bitch
You're faker than blue-eyed crackers nailed to a crucifix
I'm 'bout to blow up like NASA Challenger computer chips

Arsenic language transmitted revolutionarily
I'm like time itself, I'm gonna kill you inevitably
Chemically bomb you, fuck using a chrome piece
I'm Illmatic, you won't make it home like Jerome's niece

I'll sever your head diagonally for thinking of dissin' me
And then I'll use your dead body to write my name in calligraphy
This public democracy, brain washed your psychology
So you're nothing like diversity without equality

And your crew is full of more faggots than Greek mythology
Using numerology to count the people I sent to Heaven
Produces more digits than 22 divided by 7
You're like Kevin Spacey, your style is usually suspect

You never killed a cop, you not a mother fucking thug yet
Your mind is empty and spacious
Like the part of the brain, the appreciated culture in a racist
Face it, you too basic, you're never gonna make it
Like children walking through Antarctica butt naked

Credits

Written by:

Ivan Barias; Phillip Gayle; Carvin Haggins; Arnold Darnell Ingram; James Mitchell; Valvin Roane; Louie Robinson; Frank Romano; Justin Timberlake; Marvin Lee Willis

External links

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