Industrial Revolution

The day of the geechee is gone boy And you goin' with it Yeah, nigga Immortal Technique Metaphysics The bling-bling era was cute, but it's about to be done I leave you full of clips like the Moon blocking the Sun My metaphors are dirty like herpes but harder to catch Like an escape tunnel in prison, I started from scratch And now these parasites want a percent of my ASCAP Trying to control perspective like an acid flashback But here's a quotable for every single record exec "Get your fucking hands out my pocket, nigga!" like Malcolm X But this ain't a movie, I'm not a fan or a groupie, and I'm not The type of cat you can afford to miss if you shoot me Curse the Heavens and laugh when the sky electrocutes me Immortal Technique stuck in your thoughts, darkening dreams No one's as good as me, they just got better marketing schemes I'll lead you to your own destruction like sparking a fiend 'Cause you got jealousy in your voice like Starscream And that's the primary reason that I hate y'all faggots I've been nice since niggas got killed over 8-ball jackets And Reebok Pumps that didn't do shit for the sneaker I'm a heatseaker with features that'll reach through the speaker And murder counter-revolutionaries personally Break a thermometer and force-feed his kids mercury A&R's tried jerking me, thinking they call shots Offered me a deal and a blanket full of smallpox You're all getting shot, you little fucking treacherous bitches! This is the business, and y'all ain't getting nothing for free And if you devils play broke, then I'm taking your company You could call it reparations or restitution Lock and load, nigga, industrial revolution I want 53 million dollars for my calloused hands Like the Bush administration gave to the Taliban And fuck packing grams, nigga, learn to speak and behave! You want to spend twenty years as a government slave? Two million people in prison keep the government paid Stuck in a six-by-eight cell, alive in the grave I was made by revolution to speak to the masses Deep in the club, toast the truth, reach for your glasses I'll burn an orphanage just to bring heat to you bastards Innocent deep in a casket, Colombian fashion Intoxicated off the flow like thug's passion You motherfuckers will never get me to stop blasting You're better off asking Ariel Sharon for compassion You're better off begging for 20 points from a label You're better off battling cancer under telephone cables Technique chemically unstable, set to explode Foretold by the Dead Sea scrolls written in code So if your message ain't shit, fuck the records you sold 'Cause if you go platinum, it's got nothing to do with luck It just means that a million people are stupid as fuck Stuck in the underground, a general that rose to the limit Without distribution managers, a deal, or a gimmick Revolutionary Volume 2 murder the critics And leave your fucking body rotting for the roaches and crickets This is the business, and y'all ain't getting nothing for free And if you devils play broke, then I'm taking your company You could call it reparations or restitution Lock and load, nigga, Industrial revolution