Hardcore Chemical - La Coka Nostra, Slaine, Ill Bill

I’m the problem and the solution

The revolution won’t be televised, it’s too gruesome

Too gangster, too graphic for you born-again faggots

My words inspire people like the Ten Commandments

I floss with diamond teeth, SCUBA dive on a private beach

Billy Idol smoke chronic with Cheech

I cut your tongue out for talking against me

My enemies' grandchildren will remember me for centuries

The fine line between insanity and genius

Murder you, I give your reality a remix

Humanity’s beneath us, we super humans

Super tyrants, super-violent, listen to the way my nine click

Right before I pop your collar

The most hated from New York like I shot your mama

Compare me to Amazon.com for dollars

Canarsie Osama, riding with a mass of martyrs, fucker

Hardcore chemical, gangster material

Tri-city machine bang in your stereo

Put em up, shut em down

Keep it raw, riding with the gutter sound

The thicker the plot, the quicker the shot, the liquor and pot

Got me higher than the Denver junkie, shocking the monkey

Feeding his habit, set it up, cook it up, tie it off and stab it

Shoot it up, feel the rush then throw up your guts

Nod out for a while cause the style is nuts

Like I’m in Roca, it’s fucking Coka

These other cats fake it with that baking soda

This is it, this is it, yeah I’m back on the shit again

(Slaine: Danny Boy, Danny Boy, you ever gonna spit again?)

C’mon homie you know me, yeah I birthed your style

The money-back guarantee, I make it worth your while

Still the Cadillac King, I don’t fuck with foreign cars

American, I need a blowjob and a porn star

Nobody move, no not one punk

I fuck around and pull out my shotgun pump

Yeah, dope motherfuckers, I came back to spit

Move with the hunger fueled by a lack of chips

When I lose my cool and shoot it’s accurate

Give me some room, I make yous move back a bit

I came from a town where the hope can drown

Bought a teaspoon (???) from the dope and found

With their necks tied up and the rope around

Eighties cars overheated broken down

Car-thieving heathen, living where no odds or even

Gambling fist fighters watching the kid bobbing and weaving

Everybody scheming, we all deceiving

I wrote my words on the walls of mausoleums

Now I stand in a position of strength

So I speak for those who can’t, I spit what I think

I’m from the city where motherfuckers were sticking the pigs

I rep the Irish street cats and the micks in the clink