מילים לשיר Industrial Revolution – Immortal Technique

Yeah nigga, Immortal Technique, metaphysics The blingI leave ya full of clipse like the moon blocking the sun
my metaphors are dirty like herpes but harder to catch
and now these parasites wanna prosenna my asscap
like an escape tunnel in prison I started from scratch
but here's a quotable for every single record exec
trying to control perspective like an acid flashback
get your fucking hands out my pocket nigga like Malcolm X
and I'm not that type of cat, you can afford to miss if you shoot me
but this ain't a movie, I'm not a fan or a groupie
curse to heavens and laugh when the sky electrocutes me
Immortal Technique stuck in your thoughts darkening dreams
I leave ya to your own destruction like sparking a fiend
no ones as good as good as me, they just got better marketing schemes
cuz you got jealousy in ya voice like star scream
and Reebok Pumps that didn't do shit for the sneaker
I've been nice since niggaz got killed over 8and that's the primary reason that I hate ya faggots
I'm a heatseaker with features that'll reach through the speaker
and murder counter revolutionaries personally
break a thermometer and force feed his kids mercury
offered me a deal and a blanket full of small pocks
ANR's tribe jerking me thinking they call shots
your all getting shot, you little fucking tregerous bitches This is the business, and ya'll ain't getting nothing for free
and if you devils play broke, then I'm taking your company
you can call it reparations or restitution
lock and load nigga, industrial revolution
(Verse 2) like the Bush administration gave to the Taliban
I want fifty three million dollars for my collar stand
and fuck packing grams nigga, learn to speak and behave
you wanna spend twenty years as a government slave
two million people in prison keep the government paid
i was made by revolution to speak to the masses
stuck in a six block eight cell alive in the grave
deep in the club toast the truth, reach for the classes
I burn an orphanage just to bring heat to you bastards
innocent deep in a casket, columbian fashion
you motherfuckers will never get me to stop blastin'
intoxicated of the flow like thugs passion
your better off asking Ariel Sharon for compasion
your better off battling cancer under telephone cabels
your better off banging for twenty points for a label
foretold by the dead sea scrolls written in codes
Technique chemically unstable, set to explode
so if your message ain't shit, fuck the records you sold
cuz if you go platinum, it's got nothing to do with luck
it just means that a million people are stupid as fuck
stuck in the underground in general and rose to the limit
Revolutionary Volume 2, murder the critics
without distribution managers, a deal, or a gimmick
and leave your fucking body rotten for the roaches and crickets.