In Common - Diabolic, Canibus

Yo, yo, yo

I know how far this could go

But I’m not willing to go far, as long as you know

I’d rather dump you off of the speed-boat

Your trench coat float while you bleed slow—you already know

I check my P.O.

Box with a robot

I got a ammo can in the corner full of old Glocks

Aight, breathe.

Adjust to the beat

Adjust to the speed of Canibus, the MC

The library of binary.

Words I rhyme surprise many

But few realize, if any

You navigate through a constellation of bars

If it does not madden, you will be a god

If it does not sadden, then you will be awed

But they are on their way to capture you, so be on your guard

The world I live in is different from the world you been in

But I stay committed and still spit it

The microphone is a psychotic object

Those who don’t spit hot shit will get shocked and drop it

I’ll be there in the morning to collect your belongings

If I have to knock more than once, you’ll be sorry

The door sign reads: enter or die

That’s when I wrote the hundred-thousand bar rhyme

So ask Canibus.

He ain’t understanding this

Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans ain’t shit

And ninety-nine percent of his fans didn’t think

That ninety-nine percent of the planet can’t spit

But Diabolic 'bout to show you how we handle this

Diabolic and Canibus—sample this

Canibus and Diabolic get busy when we rhymin'

And that’s what we got in common

Yo, ladies rock your body while 'Bolic cocks a shottie

And pops these prima donnas posing for the paparazzi

If not, I’ll prolly hop inside a stolen Maserati

Goin' kamikaze like a pilot sent from Nagasaki

That’s why doctors got me on some anti-psychotics

My logic’s «If I die, 'Bolic's sales sky-rocket»

This high-wattage made corpses rise from pine boxes

With the fire in their eye sockets like they Cyclops’s

By God, this man lost his damn mind and

Buried his head in the sand to plant some landmines

I worry the feds had planned to scan our land lines

Instead, mankind embrace fags who can’t rhyme

So for the last time, I refuse to rap—it's worthless

'Til I land a better deal than the Louisiana Purchase

My purpose is to scratch the surface 'til a crack emerges

Afterwards it’s stuffin' bitches like a taxidermist

And I’m glad my sperm is drippin' through your bitches panties

'Til she barefoot and pregnant, sifting through my kitchen pantry

My daughter’s nine.

Dad’s living like a vigilante

Kiss the family, huntin' pedophiles trickin' kids with candy

In other words, those who dare touch what he treasures

Sleep better than Heath Ledger beneath a dream catcher

So I suggest you pray the G-O-D bless ya'

Like a good Muslim on his knees facing east Mecca