Lay Me Down

Lyrics

[Intro] S-A-double-Y-I-D-B-E-A-N-S-E-B These haters wanna And they think they gonna Lay me down Never [Verse 1: High Priest] Hold that I'm banging 'til your eyes roll back To be awaken from that permanent nap If you think you gonna lay me down, you must be mistaken I'm taking back a art forsaken The streets patiently waiting for us to take 'em With paramilitary precision The bars, lift from the God Give him vision to do it different The gift and the curse Shiftin' the verse, lifting the curse Voices calling out, in reverse Livin' the verse 'til the last become first A thousand megahertz, your body jerks The volts animate that Nerves, depend swerves But in the end, it serves the greater good The haters wishing they could Subliminally, I'm wishing they would [Verse 2: Beans] Call me Obama The best intentions asserts the comedy You know my occupation is professionally ill Like don't touch, written in braille Aim yo' money guns at me Y'all is warm tap water tasting, unfazed me The noose fits nicely I'm ice tea, can't spite me Touch a button, your future alphabetics in the blizzard About to boo-boo on somebody tonight Who sliced like a knife in the eleven hour of night He spread a tantrum in the fit of love A turntable as the world turns Reign attempts to cleanse the city of sin Heartbroken when the bad guys win The apron on the cannibal reads "Sister cooking and taste-testin' the flesh, so fresh" Blood is the new black, we're black, my cemetery talk bury you Caught up the amateur and quick to give it up and then it blows up And everyone wonders why music sucks (Who's idea needs a new bulb?) Bring wave, barely a ripple [?] you with a brilliance A bison on beats Caught you on the ways, I'm prepared Up in ya underwear, from outta nowhere I'm like conservatives with toilet paper, countin' every square Seven [?] severe, plagued by the idea With the shovel (You diggin' it?) How I kick this, spittin' under script hard Like the record skip while you follow a script [Verse 3: M. Sayyid] Like a purple lackin' the apple, I'm born to mack Steve Job, the beat play God on the track Genocide sinisters, turn these niggas to miniatures Like I came thru with signatures, couple bitches in ministers I'm just here for the game, no practice and scrimmages Not the fame, just the images and some twisted appendages Gettin' low on some Guinnesses While the beat never finishes, then it's Where we goin, Father? Farther Away from the wack juice, close to the altar My cult, they stay with me Gather in a circle and shine like six fifty I. L. Benz white coupe, I'm so crispy Protected from the voodoo and Zulu mass against me Gently brushing my shoulders through the century Always suspicious over streets, I don't sleep Spike Wrist and Sid Vicious all over the beat