Army Of Two Ft. Saint_James

 

Yo Saint_James came to rip this with richman, 'Spitting sick shit, on the beat I inrich it.

As I'm penning this sentence, I gain control of these bitchs.

They throat an wrists slit, Then i just Throw them over in ditches

Make sure there's no witness's, Aint we ain't leave no fingerprints.

Y.G.M. An that's the squad, Me an R3LNTL3SS going hard

these haters playing spades Cuz these days they don't show any heart.

Been in battles got my scars, An that's why ima battle star.

They character is fake as fuck, An that's why they just avatars.

In the Ford an I'm fucking whipping, I'm the chef up in the fuckin kitchen,

Put it in the skillet, Cuz I am the illest, An I'm killing a my compitetion.

Leave the top of ya body missing, Drop it in a ditch a call that shit devision.

That's what you get for not trying to listen. Motherfuckers know that my writtens, Are the sickest.

Name on my hitlist an I'm crossing them off. Dome shots when I'm off of the top.

I'm just Cockin my glock, an I'm Dropping them all.

Name might be Saint james, But I'm obviously God.

The all just fruads, Cuz they fake as hell, Whoop they ass in a battle, Make them take this L.

Shit I'm spitting fire like I'm raised in hell. Saint James one the greats can't you tell

 

Every vocal is a deadly weapon

Sharp blows, are hacking flesh

Emcees leave the arena sick, from post-traumatic stress

stuck between the light and darkside, like a park god

I set the bar high, it's only visible in god's eye

Got a bad habit of smacking whack rappers up

I'm like a porn cut short, I don't give half a fuck

i'm a ghost inside a porcelain cell

American under the morbid spell, and it's coorperate hell

sick aim, with a mid-range rifle

All those pulp fiction blows, will get you ring-range titles

son, you worthless, barely scratching the surface

and packing more stolen verses then a King James bible

The barkitect, the part for death, when I arm the heat

it's sparking, I'm taking out marks like a carpet steamer

no backing out now, your pact is paid

severe your arms and leave you, with a white flag to wave

clynically crazed, never critically praised

starving artist's, I ain't had a balanced dinner in days

pennyless, pen in my own testament regardless

as I walk along the reigns, slick, pressed up against the darkness

so listen, crack, when I pen a track

if you sniff the rail in the shit I rap

you turn pale, and begin to snap

Blood pressure risen passed the limits at, envisions of impending wrath, end him with a pistol blast

Beware, I can kill em with a paragraph

Every verse is like a dose of Sarin gas

intact/In Tax/ In Fact

the impact of my mental Synapsis convince cats to quit rap

blades cut quick to catch a buck 50 wit tax

you a minor threat, your final step is to admit that...

me and saint james be the army of two

mothafuckas give respect where its due

or die