The Prophecy

So you're the motherfucker they call....Immortal Technique.

What the fuck make you so special nigga?

Huh... what the fuck do you do?

I calculate planet alignment like Mayan astronomy

Discovering atrocities worst than Aristotle

Subjecting children to sodomy

Your theory of the galaxy is primitive like Ptolemy

The truth about the universe stuck up like Aztec pottery

Unpredictable results like experimental psychology

I stomp the streets with emcee's beneath my feet in colonies

But presentation and spirit revolve around autonomy

Searching for monogamy

And cutting fake bitches out of my mind like a lobotomy

So obviously I'm not gonna be here to play games

Walked the top of the world and leave the arctic circle in flames

Battle the beast and false prophet predicted in the King James

I give a fuck about your emcee name I don't admire you

Only by dental records will you be identifiable

Cause the future is not reliable

Remember when rap was not economically viable

Comparable to what motherfuckers think of me

I might be nobody but wait till I'm together like a symphony

Resounding sound that will continue infinitely

Angel of death punishing all those who live in infamy

And shine so far away from you

You'll never get a glimpse of me

Attempts to extinguish me don't even bother me none

Like retarded kids throwing ice cubes at the sun

A victory against Immortal Technique will never be done

Just degrees of losing it every second your adding one

Some niggas dream of pushing kilos but I drop tons

With more facts and formulas and philosophical logic

Then a basement full of scientists puffing on chronic

Dipped in mycin potassium cyanide and liquid bubonic

And use it as a sonic one to find the spawn of the demonic

Screaming like onyx is of absolutely no consequence

The poison is dense enough to clog up your arteries

Mercy is not a part of me

I cause you bodily injury permanently be simply verbally murdering me

Is inconceivable cause of the unbelievable evil injected inside

The blood stream of my people

And redemption is not located under a church steeple

The feeble and the meek in soul just like the technique

Will inherit the earth, But the earth will be weak

Mother earth in her decrepit terminal illness physique

The year three thousand is bleak no happily ever after

Just death following the forth right disaster, a legacy of bastards

With plastic explosives your futures been eroded

Cause you forgot that when your free it's multiplied indefinitely

By the struggle that be the struggle I see

To socialistically united the third world countries

Expose hypocrisy in Americas democracy

Sloppily obsessed with stopping me cause I speak prophecy

Trample and dismantle your capitalist philosophy

The same way I stomp the conquering rap monopoly

And I'm not a fucking prophet

But that's the fucking prophecy