Industrial Revolution

The day of the geechee is gone boy
 And you goin' with it
 Yeah, nigga
 Immortal Technique
 Metaphysics
 The bling-bling era was cute, but it's about to be done
 I leave you full of clips like the Moon blocking the Sun
 My metaphors are dirty like herpes but harder to catch
 Like an escape tunnel in prison, I started from scratch
 And now these parasites want a percent of my ASCAP
 Trying to control perspective like an acid flashback
 But here's a quotable for every single record exec
 "Get your fucking hands out my pocket, nigga!" like Malcolm X
 But this ain't a movie, I'm not a fan or a groupie, and I'm not
 The type of cat you can afford to miss if you shoot me
 Curse the Heavens and laugh when the sky electrocutes me
 Immortal Technique stuck in your thoughts, darkening dreams
 No one's as good as me, they just got better marketing schemes
 I'll lead you to your own destruction like sparking a fiend
 'Cause you got jealousy in your voice like Starscream
 And that's the primary reason that I hate y'all faggots
 I've been nice since niggas got killed over 8-ball jackets
 And Reebok Pumps that didn't do shit for the sneaker
 I'm a heatseaker with features that'll reach through the speaker
 And murder counter-revolutionaries personally
 Break a thermometer and force-feed his kids mercury
 A&R's tried jerking me, thinking they call shots
 Offered me a deal and a blanket full of smallpox
 You're all getting shot, you little fucking treacherous bitches!
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 This is the business, and y'all ain't getting nothing for free
 And if you devils play broke, then I'm taking your company
 You could call it reparations or restitution
 Lock and load, nigga, industrial revolution
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 I want 53 million dollars for my calloused hands
 Like the Bush administration gave to the Taliban
 And fuck packing grams, nigga, learn to speak and behave!
 You want to spend twenty years as a government slave?
 Two million people in prison keep the government paid
 Stuck in a six-by-eight cell, alive in the grave
 I was made by revolution to speak to the masses
 Deep in the club, toast the truth, reach for your glasses
 I'll burn an orphanage just to bring heat to you bastards
 Innocent deep in a casket, Colombian fashion
 Intoxicated off the flow like thug's passion
 You motherfuckers will never get me to stop blasting
 You're better off asking Ariel Sharon for compassion
 You're better off begging for 20 points from a label
 You're better off battling cancer under telephone cables
 Technique chemically unstable, set to explode
 Foretold by the Dead Sea scrolls written in code
 So if your message ain't shit, fuck the records you sold
 'Cause if you go platinum, it's got nothing to do with luck
 It just means that a million people are stupid as fuck
 Stuck in the underground, a general that rose to the limit
 Without distribution managers, a deal, or a gimmick
 Revolutionary Volume 2 murder the critics
 And leave your fucking body rotting for the roaches and crickets
 ♪
 This is the business, and y'all ain't getting nothing for free
 And if you devils play broke, then I'm taking your company
 You could call it reparations or restitution
 Lock and load, nigga, Industrial revolution