Millennium Line Up - Solomon Childs

Hit you with the new Millenium Line-Up

Niggas is hons but yo we all fired up

Leavin industry heads and CEO’s tied up

Talk is talk, you get ya jaw wired up

Made from the best shit on Earth

I bring it to ya first, sick verse from the dirts

In the darkness we lurk, load a cartridge and burst

On the scene, like a news team

Let 'em all Eye Witness, the Method how I do things

Perfected, my routine’s are hectic and knockin

General Electric, I’m shockin (bzzz)

Now who top ten?

The rotten, Clan once forgotten

Niggas poppin Crys' now, they stock market droppin

They poison, I’m the antitoxin, that keep the party rockin

And got me for assault, Johnny Cochran

Get me off, grant in the vault, if I walk

Put that order in the court, yeah

Jimmy Crack callin, who the fuck really care?

(Yeah)

World best prepare for Tical 2, beware

Or be gone outta here, you be warned

Fuck off, get off that bullshit

And take the fuckin tux off, now it’s on

Thug style, far from a pretty boy

My hardcore murder got DJ’s screamin, «I told ya»

Hardcore composer, creapin even closer

Solomon scriptures written upon my shoulders

Militant rap vultures

How dare you and your crew pull out to battle!

Annihilation, throw in ya towels

Peep my West Brighton wolves start to howl

See, '74, March 9 style, it’s on

So be prepared to fight

Lyrics hotter than a B-Town night

Rap formats for combat

Solomon’ll throw elbows, so stop frontin

Mama said, «God forbid my baby take the time to write somethin»

MC’s levitated, live in concert hotter than Earth, Wind & Fire

The worlds collide and divide, see my style of haywire

What?

Uh!

Fuck the mic, spark the hydro, natural like the rhino

Knock you out like shadows on stage, ya hottest rival

Might get stiffle, and watch the crowd bounce ya life out

Raise the lifeforce, my only aim is like the rifle

Street is cycle, here in this game here we disciples

We only get triffle, open ya eyes you see a bible

Stainless scapel, BS will touchin collateral

Fuck the manuals, the automatic’ll leave you casual

Drop you lateral, then charge you like a bitch’s vaginal

Bring ya can-a-dles, let you know that’s only flammable

Leave ya several, ya nice whore screamin for medical

My verse is federal, gettin money from this chemical

The only mineral, is Money Makin niggas physical

So use ya visual, search the streets for ya crystal

('99) The mic is on, you only evacuate like pistol

Ah shit, it’s '98 again

Yo, eh-yo, my man Big John keep my high to death

I’ll empty this Tec to ya mouth 'til there’s nothin left

Yo the feds wanna trap me but I got quick, first step

And I brawled out, so tell me what’s next (Yeah)

I used to let off, bust a Tec off

Pop the cork off, Moet off

Like Janet, it’s time to +Set it Off+

Let’s history, I’m makin all y’all niggas feel my misery

Pissy off the Crys', but Crystal mixed with Hennessy

Remember me?

First with the GS3

+It's All About the Benji’s+ like my man PD

No question 'bout my flow cuz I got it, got it

Think I’m Master P cuz I be +'Bout It, 'Bout It+

I stay laced, all custom-made suits, Italiano

Beachhouse Carribiano, with Cap and Swiss models (Yo)

Yea, I know, you like my style cuz I be rippin this shit (Yeah)

Iced to the cross, y’all niggas is sick with it

What?

Yea, yea, '99

Mr. Meth, Solomon Childs

My nigga Q, what?

What?

And me, Son Don, uh

Yea, we out