Da da-da ... fuck 'em all, fuck 'em all
Uh, so you nice with the pen, man? Oh you're with them, man?
Well you paint a pretty picture but it ain't a fucking Rembrandt
Pull in your head, man, this bedlam's too raw and
This year we're bringing out Vents like new Jordans
So, get supporting or get the fuck out and
Head to the pavilion like I was Billy Bowden
Man, I've killed a thousand emcee's careers
And you get knocked out like emcee's veneers
Yeah but I could see clear, visions of body bags appear
You paranoid, you fear from Bakar Bashir
You fear from the Qur'an, Osama, Islamabad drama
Pakistan, Iraq and bulletproof armour
Shark or piranha type bastards bite
To leave Jeffery Dahmer apartment type aftermath
Laugh at the devil from the Hilltop
Revolution for real when my shit drop
They're scared of everything Joe, they're sweating wetting the bed sheets
But I ain't sweating it though like Rakim's techniques
Like lead sheets laid on depleted uranium
I'm trying to shield the listener from elitist Australians
+ (Suffa)
Yeah, kicking your back door down
Like Shaq' ripping a backboard down on Dee Brown
Take your rebound, flip it around and slam dunk
(So take that) Fuck that! (Payback)
The first in command remain fat
I'm so defiant, man I'm slamming like Kobe Bryant
On top a blonde, I'm a beast to these Sony giants
I'm a threat to Warner, I'm a vet' to BMG
It's World War Three, Vents One strapped with TNT
Original funk from the doctor, we knock the stocks off your VK
Razor sharp, torture your DJ
You resort to replay, what the fuck was that?
Vents, Suf' back once again, must attack
"In the shadows"
"Casting shadows over tomorrow"
Check it out
Yeah ... It's the return of the rebel of rhyme
Peril define attempts to take mine
We regenerate in the daytime
Feast on the remains of grape vines, straight canine
Sideways fucking pigs at the same time
So feel the wrath of the menace
We gunpoint kidnap chemists, corrupt youth the premise
Concoct a compound that sound lethal
Backyard lab to medicate the people
Generate the evil, immaculate rhyme
I got skills, got strength like your dad when you're nine
But you're, only as strong as the DJ that backs you
With your crew it's like, is your DJ man or a statue?
While my DJ can scratch, mix, produce and can rap too
He cuts a verse like the scar in a tattoo
Or Book of Mathew, and grabs you, rolls up like rubbing tobacco bro
We come from the shadows, it goes ...