Текст песни Front To Back - Jedi Mind Tricks , King Syze , Destro

Politically incorrect, the verse make you shake like Tourette's syndrome
Set the stage on fire, blowing the wet to dust
Burn your upper decks scorch with the arsenal
Climb right up, head up put a torch to your article
Son, I wrote that type of shit in 8th grade
On the lunch table, feel the shit OuterSpace make you blaze more mature
Lyrical raining a war
Rhymes flood and leave blood stains on the floor for sure
Alphabetically putting together melodies raw
Planetary I'm spitting quickly and swelling your jaw
Banned from TV my CD skit
Grip mics and yo cast don't wanna see me flip
Believe me bitch Q-Dimension leave these hits with A&R's they fall
When they read these scripts, you see me with
Crypt, Drew, Syze and Des in the skies I flash
Then we paralyze the rest

We came through to give you what you want
Q-dimension in the back, five sixers in the front
Destro came to give you what you want
King Syze—I got ya back
Yo, Plan, I got the front

Destro—am bias, destroy all choice
Yo I'm sick of these niggas stomping out of [?]
My thoughts go back to head like bullets
Shattering your consonants. Now the rest of your frame is left useless
Chance you take fucking with this QD mini vet
You stomped down, covered in blood pits of sweat
If you ever make me run again, and chase you clown
Call me Satan. 8 rounds to the back for a pound
Let's walk, blind the light, turn night to day, day to night, humble gat
People think my lifestyle is trife, let's see how trife it is
When I set off the apocalypse, and the eternal dragon rises again
Make a wish, extra
Just hurting niggas on the regular, snap necks break legs arms rip etcetera
No need for me to brag about my superhuman capabilities
Your whole team was just my example. You keep the memory

We came through to give you what you want
Q-dimension in the back, five sixers in the front
Destro came to give you what you want
King Syze—I got ya back
Yo, Plan, I got the front

Yo it's the mighty, Syzemologist causing apocalypse
The sun can't define how hot it get
Burn the populous, no way in hell you can conquer this
Honor these esophagus rhymes who capture hostages
Bring 'em to the world where MC's are verbally vicious
Concerned to earn to where respect continuous
Bear witness to rap flow trying to raise my plateau
Get on attack mode, and jab yo skull
From the stage to the back row, my sound saves souls
Explodes to the game of hip hop and takes control
And supernatural tongues spit that makes the sun split
Ethylene b-hits to make your lungs slit
Bleed to death punk while I see you when I kick it
But beware I still kill tracks with big snares
You proceed to a open mic. What for?
Planet, Syze, and Des, direct from earth's core

We came through to give you what you want
Q-dimension in the back, five sixers in the front
Destro came to give you what you want
King Syze—I got ya back
Yo, Plan, I got the front