[La the Darkman]
Yeah, Tone Touch, Power Cypha MC's
*In Jamaican tone* Yeah, ya mon know alot of dat cum from killen
I run da place, take it from me (real gun talk)
The fortified nine millime
Yo Darkman King, doin my thing the bee sting
Assassinate your whole team wit the vocal red beam
Sold yourself a dream, I sharpen my script as an arrow
Professional and live, my style double-barrel
I Self Lord, Master natural disaster
Holy sling to splash ya, dark force to thrash ya
Blind eyes, poligimous got four wives
Inside my square, rappers get buried alive
We never even, put you in the dirt still breathin
Perfection, the gold mic touch dun, I'm blessin
Flames lit the flesh, shot at some of the best
When Dell played me at my rest, stabbed a kid in his chest
Now I got respect, runnin through boroughs, hoods and towns
Niggas pull they pants down when I show the four pound
Verbally, fantastic, cocked my rhyme, blast it
Trapicante classic, gun talk gymnastic
The Bronx back to Brooklyn got my slang cold cookin
Pull up in my four-hundred, mad bitches be lookin
And I'm a rude boy, wit lyrics to seek and destroy
My gold tec gonna blast niggas from here to Quebec
Yo I'm Bronx-born, Brooklyn-raised
You niggas get more than grazed, when I blaze my gauge
It's not a arcade, dun my gun is real as AIDS
I'm Holyfield, rappers is Tyson these days, Darkman
