illuminati proper
These streets is Jurassic, cowards get asthematic
Astronauts hover throughout the atmosphere
That's the ghetto bird. Pull up on the curve
"Wassup homie!", smoke a nigga then dip
It's the immaculate, verbal assassin
Strangle your perfect etiquette to an accent
This the Jesus of Nazareth
Spittin' gold policies to a world unknown
In a cherry low low, with four zones of weed
No sticks, no seeds
Prestigious when I pulsate the 50 states
My need for speak can corral the largest crowds
Mosh pit, with a big dick screamin' "Bitches ain't shit!"
She gobble gobble for hours, I jumped in the shower
I dismantle, devour hardest Emcees, softer than clam chowder
No challengers can compete, their childish and weak, detrimental
Hazardous hazard to instrumentals, intertwined with God and Frankenstein
I'm Corrupted
I'm Corrupted
Gimme a hundred g's, for every emcee I dropped to their knees
Verbally useless
"Oh you got the juice!?" I squeeze you juiceless
Catch you, hang you, from any nooses
Been the truth since "Snoop and Tha Pound" was fuckin over Ruthless
Young and I'm ruthless
21 with 21 guns, shot and saluted for Pac
Lyrical cyclops, lasering in on paper and fraudulent friends
Bitch you's a bitch in disguise, and bitches get ten
Bullets to their midsection, Mr. Lethal Injection
In the regal higher than church steeples
I swear to God, can ya lyrics in a jar
I'm a pterodactyl tearin ya squad like pardon
Me and Terrace Martin enacting Martin
Cannibal coexisting with the coldest, that mean I'm the sickest
And Thera-flu won't do, whenever I'm kicking the wickedness
Explosive, cinematic, smoking
Like the barrel of this TEC aimin at ya neck
I'm Corrupted
I'm Corrupted
I'm from C-O-M-P-T-O any nigga can get it
The lil homie strapped and he with it
At the Avalon's swap meet, "wassup fool!?"
Blunt longer than Rosecrans
I grab the devil then slow dance
Practice trigonometry
Practice my aim on rooftops eating pastrami sandwiches
You are counterfeit, worthless piece of verses surf this
West Coast with a big scope kill all yal
It's Top Dawg, TDE, CPT
Quick to tell a bitch jump on my dick A-S-A-P
Complete havoc composer, disorder: rhyme addict
Slaughter houses full of Joeys, Joells, and Royces for ya
Live from the area code of 310
Laughing all the way to the bank with 3 elmos
Three 64's, 1 bottle of goose
I'm the truth
You can put ya hand on the bible and shoot
I'm Corrupted