Assassins - Pharoahe Monch, Jean Grae, Royce 5'9

In 2013, the World Government placed sanctions against freethinking individuals

in order to force people to adhere to one way of life

An independently funded organization called poh pih evas nac ew dna eerf rof

cisum gnidaolnwod gnikcuf pots hired one hundred assassins to infiltrate the

headquarters where files were kept

Of these one hundred, ninety-seven were captured, tortured, and executed

Only three remained

The third of which was said to own an arsenal that would rival an entire city’s

police force

The second was rumored was to be able to move throughout space and time And the

first… (One)

Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth

The first flashing her purse where a heat stealth

They call me Jean McCoy, beast in me employed, deploy deplorable

Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy

Then pass it to Troy after I’m passing your life over

He’ll deliver it through river Styx, Hades, I’m cold, deliberate, ladies

My foes limited, pray me some praise (whispering)

Stay on your toes villains, it’s Grae and your day’s whittling

Blistering lines packed in six, stick to spine

Wracked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame

Drug you with strychnine in nine drinks, you drunk, and it’s my

Kidney, you dickbrain, I’m just itching to slit veins

Stitch lines, Rick James, fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches

Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it’s to the pain

Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun

Ignint as ever, she’s clever, equivalent be none

A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion

You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest

The ball’s in your court, pass it — but warning — fall faster

Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian

The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping

The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out

Catch Grae backing out the back door, cackling

Still make it back to the bar for last call

(Two)

They ask me why I’m highly regarded, this God body probably

Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley (radical)

Never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like:

Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley

You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman — spark me

I’m Gambit with the ace of spades, a master in archery

Vehicular, particularly the vernacular

Specifically the fit so when I spit it it’s spectacular and accurate

When I attack I’m more legend than Acura

Flip Bloomberg the bird, bitch, more blood than Blacula

More Crip than cryptic scriptures encrypted with backwards vernacular

Plus sicker than most like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction

I am that nigga for real

Per capita smacking the next rapper that uses the term swag or thereafter

These three assassins get to ass whipping

Prepare to for a professional ass that can

Shape shift, spit, hollow tip clips mainly

Sick, ain’t he — mind control

Make you shoot your best friend in the face, Dick Cheney

My life is like a documentary film depicted in black and white

Flick’s grainy (geronimo)

I’m on Guantanamo Bay taking pics in a Captain Morgan pose

With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming

«We are renegades!»

Fuck you.

Pay me

Two.

Where the fuck… no.

Where the fuck is Three?

I know.

I know.

He’s gonna be here.

He gave me his word, trust me

Yeah, but he does this every time

He’s gonna be here, trust me

He’s gonna ruin this mission for us again

Look, here he comes now

I be riding round with a stripper-slash-burlesque model

I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom

I’m a opposite artist I find irony in going

From being like a stone in the grass to rocking the Garden

The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard

To having the whole machine behind me

I take my Australian bitches and show her some other thangs

She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain

Don’t try to get familiar, if I don’t feel you in person

I’ll flip the script and I’ll accidentally kill you on purpose

The bad is what I’m flailing, I got so many furs

PETA gonna paint splash me when they see me no matter what I’m wearing

Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off of my dick

Guess you could say she on my coconuts

I’m on point like Chris Paul

You on point like an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls

I’m about to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes

And shut shit down like a car when it stalls

I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water

But really y’all niggas Evian backwards

Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got

I know when I’m hot, it’s my show to stop, holding my crotch

My whip cleaner than Amish men in honest ends

Two dimes with me like I’m a twin cause I’m a ten

Okay… I’m in