The Fire in Which You Burn

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Breeze Brewin] Check, check it Fuckin' with a nigga like myself, you learns fear LaVerne's gear shows your record so unless the ho's butt naked Youse a loser, decrepit, shoulda kept it to your lonesome But you like, "Look everybody, I'm a silly microphone crumb" You want attention, B? I flaunt ascension vocally First team all universe, meanwhile your squad is benchin' locally Don't mention jokily, "Ayo, dem niggas ain't atomic" Ain't the comic niggas gutsy, after the disembowelin' Don't fuck around, I eat out for your shorty with the crew When she be rapin' heads, she want a tape and dreads And thought of you, a little stinger My shit'll bring epitome ya bitterly jealous Forever living crazy minded trying to tell us How you do it, I'll devour you, it's simple shit'll get props Don't let me bring it, God, I swing it hard like little kid box So front I keep the tone vexin', but to the heads Stay pleasant to the ears, just think of Lauryn Hill on phone sexin' [Verse 2: J-Treds] Relentless poetic rhyme never ceases infinity Forever smokin' the mic, lyric contact I be open Naturally high and no need to pass the Dutchie I'm the living "circle, circle, dot, dot" – nobody can touch me At my post, the most high exalted, mind blower When I rap it it's strictly "I can't believe he just said that shit" Material crews, who can't think straight sober My flows over your head, I enjoy the aerial view Focus from the bird's eye, in my scenario of dominance Defeating weaklings, we're bum rushin' like dirty communists Raisin' my Iron Curtain, revealin' my words the Gospel No apples or giant serpents, the enlightened apostle J-Treds, I lace heads like tennis players top seeded Not meanin' to cause a racket, or front the menace My words speak for themselves, so feel me 'Cause on the mic I've got more presence Than attendance in a class of schizophrenics – hear, hear Drink to that, pick up raps, intoxicating Got your craving my living proof, mixture of speech and wine To' up from just the flow, but pass the liquor, it's over Henny dead, even when twisted I get open like Venetian blinds [Interlude: El-P] Company Flow, the fire in which you burn slow I remain Indelible J-Treds, Juggaknots, to touch the flame you ought not I remain Indelible [Verse 3: El-P] Check, check, check, check, check, check I, the Don Digital, slash, piranha morph Alongside four terrible surgeons, who blur comic perspectives On when and how they get lit, that flaming Molotov shit Unstoppable object hits immovable wall and space split This rogue cherub got his own twisted agenda, catch that Walkin' on flatlines, you witness me grow way beyond corporate control Let them eat cake, 'cause I introduce myself as a mistake Slipped through the quills with a serrated barb stabbed, sharp in the gut Now we can all become Lord of the Flies When this industry sees its demise Huddled up in tribes destruct you get zapped with dead eyes The five factions Gigante the fuck-up-and-get-touched The group hugs you received from your support group Can't protect you from the bumrush I'm known to slip arsenic mickies in Talk Soup, then reform With an unprecedented fierceness, display these powers of Storm I wasn't born in a manger, but I still received three gifts Alphabetically listed they're Big Juss, Mr. Len, and I See the field creatures scurry, I the killer, caution Try to merk off with the pie but you choked on my motherfuckin' portion Bathe within my excrement, bitch parody Your insanity is my clarity Not to mention convention is a great war weapon Disguised under the guise of institutionalism but still prison The bad batch of jism Who stands, who falls, that's when the DJ calls Lick the ass crack on the wack, I keep tabs like Timothy Leary and/or ASCAP The iron lung is non-rustable, you're overrated As in smoking dust or signing contracts that haven't been thoroughly debated Got my name up in your mouth like cock or gingivitis When every rhyme becomes the official new blueprint for wannabe writers Catch a smack to the face on principle Even when I say nothing, it's a beautiful use of negative space Indelibles is invincible; El-P – don't forget the fuckin' name Come on, Columbo, I know you figured this shit out Nobody sounds the same [Verse 4: Bigg Jus] It gives me great pleasure when true elements get together And lace the track rough enough to withstand any type of weather If you want it I got it, chemically hemming up the seeds With a poly-epoxy type of a mixture that be fatal if you sniff it These stupid ones pop the microdots Then lean into the sound's religion Watch these styles straight box you up Coming with clean concise thoughts, penetrating patterns Not beyond your comprehension, but ejected wildly out the barrel Yo, catch the rarest glimpses of the planet once known as Earth That gravitated, before inner violence heated it up, then it burnt It be these two Southside niggas who will rock off any beat you push "Cell Therapy," down south Goodie Mob, or Special Ed's "The Bush" It's like this, for the niggas who got caught sleepin' and didn't know It be these off-axis Krazy Kings, worlds to revolve around CoFlow Coming at you in a blazing orange hunting vest, 30 yard night scope First day of deer hunting, you got scoped out like the foreign Juss not the type of nigga to stay on any scene too long, son I might lace you, leave the EP evidence and then I'm gone [Outro: scratches by Mr. Len]