Verse 1

Discontentment and resentment runs rife, through the veins of this hip hop life,
I’ve lived on the edge of a knife as well, but now I’m back from hell to rebel from that swell, L,
the holder of the hidden agenda from the fifth of September the defender of this hip hop gender,
never a pretender or actor, but holder of the key as you can see so feel the force of my factor,
and as I react to the facts that are presented, I never meant it to be misrepresented,
‘cos I sent this wish as a special delivery, a reminder to those who are blinder, that you’re never
getting rid of me, rid of me, and maybe you will label me as your enemy, enemy, and so you’ll never
be the friend of me, but please don’t pretend to be so sacred,
especially when the lies that you lay as a wreath are stripped naked... outdated,
outmoded and outclassed from the first to the last you’re getting passed on every lap and I am shitsick
of your crapness and faceless fakeness, sick of your weakness in maintaining your status,
I hate this, so I replace this, with something of greatness, a style and pattern that’s dateless,
and maybe I relate this to the matter at hand, understand things were grand until they got the upper
hand, so, here we go, check the flow, it’s easy-come and easy-go unless it doesn’t come easy ‘cos
then I’ll never let it go, oh I should have said yes,
just remember not to test when your style is undressed to the vest,
take a guess at the lesson you’re learning, and for the secondary term this crisis is burning,
and I’m yearning for the days of old because my memory is filled with the thoughts of fruits of nature
that we gave ya, I never professed to be the saviour, but one thing I will never be is the enslaver,
I was made and manufactured to give it back to the point, to the point, to the point, it’s the joint,
what’s the point?, the point is this, I’m sick of all the effortlessness on the part of the breathless,
if you wanna come and test this then please do your worst, and I’m a send your chapter and verse
back in a hearse, I curse artists that dismiss this because it’s artistic endeavour,
that makes me endure being poor and then hardcore forever, I never let the lesser man get to me,
because when I catch the lesser man he’ll be getting a vasectomy, so don’t try to get next to me,
‘cos if you do I’ll have to leave you black and blue with this recipe... for venom

Chorus

Verse 2

Vanish, fake hip hop artists are getting banished and I manage to use all the damage to my
Advantage, and any vantage point which may have existed, has been discarded,
disregarded and plus missed it’s a point for the hit list, so make the drop-off huh,
and don’t ask me why I’m pissed off, when Mell’O’ and Blade are getting missed off,
the list of the roughest MC’s on the planet, your bullshit, I can it, shitty labels it’s time to panic,
‘cos here comes the frantic with the Peugeot 205 and a baseball bat, so remember that,
plus at 33 or 45, you spin the wheel and spin the vibe with tales from the light side,
and I might check for recognition, with the keys in the ignition, a mission of precision has been
positioned... with venom...

Chorus

Verse 3

And as a sample of venom has since been tasted, witness the part-time rhymers getting wasted,
I chased it, and faced it with the force of my vexedness, if you wanna come and test this,
then watch me as I wreck this, and check yourself for integrity and loyalty,
‘cos some boys will be down to clown and be destroying the artform that caused a storm that we’ve
been building, so teach the willing children to defend the style we’re building,
and then we can make a killing after paying dues for years and years of tears so here’s,
the philosophy of mental photography, and if you can’t keep up with me then get the fuck off of me,
‘cos there is no stopping the H.E.A.R.T.S. of darkness...
I suggest you don’t mess or you’ll get tested, by the roughneck styles I manifested and possessed
it’s, just the anger that is banging in my brain, that makes me release the pain upon paper,
I try to escape the, confines of the mind of the greater, but wait ah,
as radio stations are testing my patience, ‘cos they won’t show us the way since,
hip hop does not appeal to the masses, well then fuck the masses ‘cos the masses have got no class,
it’s simple economics, supply meets demand, but the supply doesn’t meet our demand understand,
the underhand policies of the next man, I’m just proving the fact that I’m vexed and enraged,
I don’t see hip hop artists up on stage, and when I do see artists up on a stage all they want is a
wage, well I’ll give them a wage, I wage war, and with a taste of venom I’ll settle the score...

Chorus (to end)