[Verse 1]
Illegal turn my mic up, let me scream on all these fag rappers. Backpackers, competition so wack that I ain’t gonna mention any names. Plenty flames hit you battling son and you a faggot if you pose on the Internet with a gun. You ain’t popping sh*t! but the seeds in your slack dime sack. I climax from sonning rappers, give me my rhymes back. You f*cking punks that’s why you caught the b*tch vapors. Spit at a hater, chump. This Lord Lhus, I kick flavor; smash through, ambush your platoon with Snowgoons. Harass crews who spit, if they wack; it’s bad news. f*ck a battle, this a war; if you’re glorifying the lame scene. Accept the Trojan Horse, then we conquer the mainstream. Bow down or kick rocks, homie you ain’t as hot as me, I’m a god in Hip-Hop, study your rap mythology. I’m centuries ahead of MC's, write, rhyme in spaceships; I kicked the flow in 80 BC, battle with ancients
[Hook]
He sold out, not me, not me!
Who sold out? Not me, not me!
Smoke dro out? Yes, indeed that’s me
Lord Lhus, f*ck the industry!
Punishing MC's
[Verse 2]
But I’m not done yet pus*y, you cowards pray to the snakes. Sign a five album deal, not getting paid? You getting raped! You think you hustling? The label make you feel like solid gold, but they want half of your publishing and every bit of your soul... f*ck that!!! I’mma hit platinum with battle raps. Instead of cattle crap inside of a record label contract. Motherf*cker you can’t own me; this Lord Lhus, I rep the underground homie, Rob record labels with my cronies. What up!?!?! I get sick with a mic, the flow moves, No room in the venue on stage with Snowgoons. Watch me kill a track, running with savage guerrilla packs. Spit the illest rap, warn the Asians; Godzilla’s back. You ain’t f*cking with it, faggot. This is your reminder... Lord Lhus, I’m from South Carolina; come and get it punk, I destroy you with no remorse saying "f*ck Commercial Rap and prepare for the Trojan Horse"!!!
[Hook]