Suicide

[Intro: Chapel]

Fucking, like suicide, boy, yo, yo

[Chorus 2X: sample]

Uh, sometimes I cry, (there inside), realize

It's like suicide, there's no way out (no way out)

[Chapel]

Wild, wreck the rhymes, bust out of my mouth

Build styles like an architect, building a house

Chit-chattering, stop that blab in your mouth

I got props worldwide, reach out of the south

Fighting drug free lifestyles, Chapel will joust

Against MC's soft, like a low cut blouse

Keeps ya penal, proteges follow my route

Keep ya lips sealed, boy, what you talking about?

I'mma bust you, stand back, burners'll shout

I keep it all foul, with a thug profile

Your style premature like an unborn child

Fragile, weak ass, boy, you ain't wild

Supreme courts, fuck that, jump that trial

My boys grab Franklins, bumping coat childs

Came a long way, yeah, I ran a few miles

I may not blast cats when I burst, chik-chik-kapow!

[Chorus 2X]

[Dom Pachino]

They ask me what's my main focus, poker face, lookin' the dopest

Always keep my gear in check, and plus, my chain is ferocious

I got bitches, from coast to coasts, la cosa nostra

Is the kid, with the toaster that's ready to roast ya

Never heard of a hostler, I'm fiending to smoke ya

Got the game in a chokehold, getting brains in Sudoco's

It's the kid from Staten Island from the Army of locos

We international, though we used to be local

Couple shows around the globe, shit, folks notice you

Couple magazine ads, those kids are rad

Even white boys love us, bitches, they wanna thug us

Told my Team, when you fuck with them bitches, to rock rubbers

And undercovers, pull up on my block and what not

The spectators don't say shit, or get they shit rocked

You fake thugs, should of learned something from 2Pac, pop, pop, pop...

[Chorus 2X]

[Dom Pachino]

It's not your normal, formal, get together

You have now, been introduced to Terror

Mind power, the type that bring down some towers

Wet ya like a cold shower, it's official, rip ya bristle

Kiss of death, nah, the missile tow more like a missile flow

Gladiator like Russell Crowe, but in the studio

I put words together, like birds of a feather flock

Undercovers, they smother the block, like a rubber on my cock

To discover what's hot, home boy, you not

So put that mic down, let it go, you hear the sound of a bell

Battle rap, in the dungeons of hell

I'm sweating bullets, shitting grenades, spitting gun powder

I take a shower in fire, and hear a shout

That's when I remember, that there's no way out

[Chorus 2X]