[Verse 1: El-P]
Beware of horses,
I mean a horse is a horse, of course, but who rides is important,
Sitting high with a uniform, barking orders,
Demanding order.
And I'm scared that I talk too much about what I think's going on,
I got a way with this, they might drag me away for this,
Put me in a cage for this, I might pay for this,
I just say what I want like I'm made for this.
But I'm just afraid some days I might be wrong,
Maybe that's why me and Mike get along.
Hey, not from the same part of town, but we both hear the same sound coming,
And it sounds like war.
And it breaks our hearts,
When I started this band, didn't have no plans, didn't see no arc,
Just run with the craft, have a couple laughs,
Make a buck and dash,
Get a little dap like, «Yeah, I'm the fucking man!
Maybe give a little back like, «Here, I do what I can.»
It's all jokes and smoke till the truth start scheming,
Can't contain the disdain for y'all demons,
You talk clean and bomb hospitals,
So I speak with the foulest mouth possible,
And I drink like a Vulcan losing all faith in the logical,
I will not be confused for docile, I'm free, motherfuckers, I'm hostile.
[Verse 2: Killer Mike]
Choose the lesser of the evil people, and the devil still gon' win,
It could all be over tomorrow, kill our masters and start again.
But we know we all afraid, so we just simply cry and march again,
At the Dem Conven my heart broke apart when I seen them march mommas in,
As I rap this verse right now, got tears flowing down my chocolate chin.
Told the truth and I've been punished for it, must be a masochist cuz I done it again.
“Ooh, Mike said ‘uterus'!”
They actin' like Mike said, «You a bitch»
To every writer, who wrote it, misquoted it, Mike says, «You a bitch, you a bitch, you a bitch!»
Add a «nigga» for that black writer that started that sewer shit
I maneuver through manure like a slumdog millionaire,
El-P told me, «Fuck them devils, Mike, we gon' be millionaires!»
I respond with a heavy «yeah».
Big bruh says, «Fuck that, toughen up
Stay ready, write raw raps, shit rugged rough.»
The devil don't sleep, us either,
El spits fire, I spit ether,
We the gladiators that oppose all Caesars,
Coming soon on a new world tour,
Probably play the score for the World War,
At the apocalypse, play the encore.
Turn around, see El, and I smile,
Hell coming and we got about a mile,
Until it's over I remain hostile.