Speaking to the atheists, let's talk, I'm living proof
The lord is living too, smoke you out your living room
You been the fool, if the deep hood invented you
Keep the razor under the tongue and the white in the tennis shoes
Tenement get bulldozed, relocate, blow smoke out project windows
Those are more than death throes, pop him again I suppose
Think back to when being thought of with Esco was the goal
Graffiti spray frescos, in the paint, the fakes show
You preach fiction, where I come from they profit off addiction
Thinker's position in dark rooms awaiting my crucifixion
Ideas make collisions, we speak street sedition
Plans come to fruition, we execute them with precision
Wrinkled jeans and creased forces, from the deceased we hear voices
Below the deep, we seek the colors of other hoisted
I'm the most contained and most boisterous, I picked my own poisons
In the trap, we lay back and snack on green soylent
Picture a time where demons find a man with a deeper mind
Rain or shine, blow up the block like feet on mines
Keep in mind our operations are sufficiently clandestine
The coroner signed; he was struck from behind at about nine
Y'all are pains, for a chain rock my guillotine blade
It's profane the way you feign as if you were part of the raid
Blow up like lit propane, the cocaine gets splayed
We heard what you explained, now our true foes are displayed
Shooting out of a clip or a quiver, make you have fright shivers
Make your life flicker like a f*cked up light fixture
Ain't no mind sicker, but you can't find one quicker
Make the ground quake more power than the f*cking Richter
Took seven to the body, and another seven to the head
In a troubled land the troubled man was found dead
We heard what you said, you did a month at cape Fed
My third eye's light shine bright right out my forehead
Del-N'quent - Trouble (The Return) Lyrics
Del-N'quent - Trouble (The Return) Lyrics
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Speaking to the atheists, let's talk, I'm living proof
The lord is living too, smoke you out your living room
You been the fool, if the deep hood invented you
Keep the razor under the tongue and the white in the tennis shoes
Tenement get bulldozed, relocate, blow smoke out project windows
Those are more than death throes, pop him again I suppose
Think back to when being thought of with Esco was the goal
Graffiti spray frescos, in the paint, the fakes show
You preach fiction, where I come from they profit off addiction
Thinker's position in dark rooms awaiting my crucifixion
Ideas make collisions, we speak street sedition
Plans come to fruition, we execute them with precision
Wrinkled jeans and creased forces, from the deceased we hear voices
Below the deep, we seek the colors of other hoisted
I'm the most contained and most boisterous, I picked my own poisons
In the trap, we lay back and snack on green soylent
Picture a time where demons find a man with a deeper mind
Rain or shine, blow up the block like feet on mines
Keep in mind our operations are sufficiently clandestine
The coroner signed; he was struck from behind at about nine
Y'all are pains, for a chain rock my guillotine blade
It's profane the way you feign as if you were part of the raid
Blow up like lit propane, the cocaine gets splayed
We heard what you explained, now our true foes are displayed
Shooting out of a clip or a quiver, make you have fright shivers
Make your life flicker like a f*cked up light fixture
Ain't no mind sicker, but you can't find one quicker
Make the ground quake more power than the f*cking Richter
Took seven to the body, and another seven to the head
In a troubled land the troubled man was found dead
We heard what you said, you did a month at cape Fed
My third eye's light shine bright right out my forehead
The lord is living too, smoke you out your living room
You been the fool, if the deep hood invented you
Keep the razor under the tongue and the white in the tennis shoes
Tenement get bulldozed, relocate, blow smoke out project windows
Those are more than death throes, pop him again I suppose
Think back to when being thought of with Esco was the goal
Graffiti spray frescos, in the paint, the fakes show
You preach fiction, where I come from they profit off addiction
Thinker's position in dark rooms awaiting my crucifixion
Ideas make collisions, we speak street sedition
Plans come to fruition, we execute them with precision
Wrinkled jeans and creased forces, from the deceased we hear voices
Below the deep, we seek the colors of other hoisted
I'm the most contained and most boisterous, I picked my own poisons
In the trap, we lay back and snack on green soylent
Picture a time where demons find a man with a deeper mind
Rain or shine, blow up the block like feet on mines
Keep in mind our operations are sufficiently clandestine
The coroner signed; he was struck from behind at about nine
Y'all are pains, for a chain rock my guillotine blade
It's profane the way you feign as if you were part of the raid
Blow up like lit propane, the cocaine gets splayed
We heard what you explained, now our true foes are displayed
Shooting out of a clip or a quiver, make you have fright shivers
Make your life flicker like a f*cked up light fixture
Ain't no mind sicker, but you can't find one quicker
Make the ground quake more power than the f*cking Richter
Took seven to the body, and another seven to the head
In a troubled land the troubled man was found dead
We heard what you said, you did a month at cape Fed
My third eye's light shine bright right out my forehead
Writer: Rishabh Sinha
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid