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letra de war in heaven pt. i - rodan

rodan – “war in heaven pt. i”
[emcee(s): rodan]
[producer(s): ravage]

[verse 1: rodan]
yo, we don’t
speak the same language, so you might need a translator for this
cousin. sling syllables by the dozen, sl!ck literary
metaphor for popping slugs, pushing and copping drugs and
one-dimensional frame of reference made you think it wasn’t
next time, try and consider the entire context before
trying to make a judgement. feel the shame of your guilt complex
look in your face, see you’re jealous. bet you wish these filthy crackers
would put us back in chains and try to sell us
bet you wish a mythological prince of darkness show up but lose in here
in contrast, put us on a bound-to-h-ll bus
-n-logies pertinent to these commercial industry shenanigans
let out p-ss on your empire, heart turning black
no turning back like anakin. it’s rodan again, here to
establish wealth with this rap sh-t. peep the name, peep the
strategy, it’s anti-gravity, lifting you up with empty
gat clips, dedicated to false images on television
f-ggot klansmen never charged with terrorism
innocent black man convicted and fills up the prisons. my only
religion is self-preservation and anti-establishmen-
-tarianism, settle it with gats or fists, hand
palms m-ss clots, eight bombs clap to this post-
-nuclear activist, ten percent take the -ss-whipping
like a world cl-ss m-s-ch-st. just ‘cause i was an underground
rapper, you thought i was a backpacking pacifist?
put extraneous pressure on the joints to increase the stretch of
the muscle, keep it subtle with the bare knuckle. know nothing
sweet lasts forever, so, every week, we get a different hustle
dipped head-to-toe in kevlar like it was nike, create
culture to conquer the collective consciousness, american
psyche, mapping plans for steady sailing. one tran-
-saction, your word already failing. support the group or rock
the solos like eddie van halen or, better yet
coltrane and john kicking high steps. what’s the science, clown?
that’s a strong man in your circus? i’ma shoot him in the biceps
smack a gargoyle, jack him for his steroids
annoyed, leave him destroyed, null and void. i’ll write rhymes
like scriptures, you write rhymes like f-cking tabloids

[verse 2: rodan]
been everywhere and back, and these fools are still steady doubting
never realizing faith the size of a mustard seed can move the heaviest
of mountains. jewels i’m counting, but never cast pearls
to swine, f-ggot evil de-vines and prost-tutes
in blue suits. ten centuries from now, still burning down
the booth, saying, “give it to me straight,” ‘cause, unlike tom cruise
i can handle the truth. a few good men on the verge of a third
murder to ride tracks and rock beats. we be the ivy league
caliber intellectuals that be loving the streets
where the rare flare missiles crack on the middle of the little apple
sn-tched off so much ice, made n-ggas want to jump up
and land a triple axel. we never landed on plymouth rock
so f-ck where the pilgrims settle. the point of impact
keep you intoxicated from the smell of freshly oiled gunmetal
soldiers -ssembling, cowards are trembling, remembering
abolishing bullsh-t like i was ro’ waldo
emerson, considering, so accustomed to running on one hundred
percent adrenaline, dis-ssembling feeble joints for the
sharpness of needle points and stick it to a rap show
critic, still stacking crack-blow digits. sh-t ain’t just
-ss-shaking and entertainment, it’s tantamount to rocket science
as intricate as astrophysics, infinite and
afrocentric

- rodan

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