The Mic Shall Inherit The Earth

XFactor by Professor A.L.I.



On this night of power; in this final hour/I want to be a souljah, samurai, Kurosawa/Like Kamikazes, rainin’ steel in Okinawa/Spit venom like ring necked snakes from Botswana/Neurotoxic your optic, when I drop grammar/Burn away facades, illusions, and propaganda/I’m a bitter red pill; figure four, Greg Hammer/Your tapped out, taking selfies on a camera/Damn brah, is this where Hip Hop is?/If it still lives, its with A.L.I. and Blitz/Our alliance is, just like a lion’s grip /Slicing the larynx, of their leviathan/Afrocentric Asians, with broader aspirations/Than Abyssinians, riding beasts for invasion /Globalization, Hip Hop communication/The mic is pale horse; we spit ‘death to Satan’


Who shall inherit, the orb is an orphan/Labeled barbaric, yet aborigines absorbing/Algorithms, wisdom, like eye of Odin/And F colonialism, ‘cuz the Mic is open/In Tamil, I spit, Nam Adangamatom/It means we won’t stop, Hip-Hop’s our home/Not dead, its soul; circles the globe/And I’m a clone, of a young Nasir Jones…



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