Vinnie Paz, Jay NiCE, Tha God Fahim - Apollo, Vulcan & Mars lyrics

Yeah nigga something about this shit
I can't figure it out
(Mic check, 1, 2, 1, 2)
Something about this shit
I can't figure it out (Peace to the Gods)
Something about this shit
I can't figure it out
Something about your character
I can't figure out (The lucky teachers)
'Fuck going on? (What's happening?)
'Fuck my lighter at? Lighter Flickering
Esketit

Uh, I spit the lava, burn the village
Professional bars are hurting
Feelings, word villain
Every verse is brilliance
I'm not from Earth, my boy
To share the same turf as pprivilege
One bar turns to millions
Sixteen is worth a billion
Buildings collapse
Ceilings are cracked - thе final days
It's Armageddon's arrival
May Allah let revival raisе us
It's a cycle, not a phase
Man, niggas dying every hour
Either from accidents or a rifle stray
Michael J but twice as great, this FLAiR
Homie big FLAiR
They caught the flying dunk in mid-air
Shit, I disappear behind the smoke fumes
To float with the goons
Then heat waves composed, I wrote it in June
Pour salt on the open wound
Knowing victory's mine
I see the love everywhere
Even the enemy's eyes
Went from bitches dissing me
Now I'm liked by Nicki Minaj
Making history the God bodies, Vicky and Fah
Argh

Minor setback for a major comeback
You don't respect that
You'd prolly be behind one lap
You could expect that the baby 9 was compact
You gon' regret that
My MO make the sun black
VM-dubs riding with slugs
They thought I'd try to sneak
My Gat in the club, got em patting for drugs
And I just came to show love
Why you showing concern?
Uh, I keep a 50 clip to sanitise for germs
They burn your body, throw you in a urn
Wanna be like the Gawds then
You gotta wait your turn
Check it, I'm laying laws like Mitt Romney
A hundred on the dash
Banging at visions of Ghandi
A hundred on the dash
Cops wanna pull me probably
A hundred on the stash
Trapping in this kamikaze i make it all bad
Blazing beats is just a hobby
Every rhyme I write is brolic
More brolic than Brodly

Rhyme for rhyme, '88, and Corollas
Gucci robe, four finger rings big as boulders
Frankincense and Myrrh, black copium aromas
Them oo-wops was spitting
Putting people into comas
You young rap motherfuckas modern day Urkel
Jimmy taking tabs of that model ray purple
The same dickheads still running
The same circle
Gold sabre, black bell bullets, they hurt you
Car Louis, gold metal, skip across the beat
Sometimes you go around the world
To get across the street
I don't gotta kill em
I just let em all to plea
We don't clap at em
We just give em a receipt
I'm knocking your keys, anti the dark orgies
And change gon' come, the stranger
The my price down but I hope it inflates
I'm coming through
Motherfucka open the gates

Ha ha haha pistol Gang Pazzie
Yo Jay NiCE, salute him 'Nah mean?
Official pistol and all that
And I'm the Allah