Butane (Champion's Anthem) [feat. El-P]

1: Killer Mike]
 (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)
 Looking for the truth, yeah it's me
 Everything Polo to the floor though, even at the grocery store though
 Picture perfect, take a photo, and take the pic you biting bitch
 And go and stitch a logo (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)
 Hit you with the quatro, but my girl Mercedes
 With the Audi say that Quatro was a two door so a typo
 You can put on Killer Kill, Fat Boy, or just Michael
 Call me what you want but still never call me rival
 They will call you dead and I will call you gone
 The Lord, sweet Jesus, will be weeping calling your ass home
 If underground rap royalty is what I'm meant to be
 Then I will be the shit and you ain't shit to me
 We the ones, we the winners, we the champions
 Champagne at the end of our campaign
 Spit fire, naked truth like the blue flame
 Like the blue flame (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)
 Let me see your hands up if you do the same
 Caught the plug and we bolt like Usain
 More money, more power, more butane
 Burn the motherfucker down, down
 Life's a bitch so I mack on her immaculate
 I don't wear no monkey watches, Rolex is too accurate
 My rhymes are actually accurate, meaning I don't fiction in my diction
 To the masses, this perfection is performed through many practices
 Like prostitutes on mattresses, this shit just come naturally
 Easy as Osama's bombers takin many casualties
 Like Columbine I'm down for mine I'm here to kill the faculty
 Killin them or killin me, this is my soliloquy
 Iller than the illest beat, I will spit the illest shit
 From right here to infinity, Till I reach the dirt
 I will search the earth endlessly looking for the illest, see
 Ain't nobody lyrically as ill as me, 'less Eazy-E
 Come back from A.I.D... S yes
 Get a beat from E-L-P, ghostwritten from my partner T.I.P
 Cube and me and we time travel back to 95
 Jumping in a 63 Impala playing Cuban Linx
 Yo Mike they fucked up putting us together man
 Yo, I'm a Grinch with a grin, I will shit on your kids
 Get a life, get a grip, get a hold on my dick, bitch, make a wish
 I'm a knife, I'm nothing-that's-nicer-than-getting-sliced-up
 The switch, the machete, the feti Yeti, the shyster
 Icer, getting-closer-to-Christ ya
 Might just find that the design of your life is an angel hair short of divine love
 I stink, I just stuck up a truck that said Brinks
 I'm a Sphinx, snorted so much that my nose just broke off, think
 I'm alone again, clutching a loaded Glock soaked in chromium
 Hoping that the thought police just don't bust in my home again
 Life is tough, you'll get snuffed in the buff
 So dystopian, ruff ruff, hear the call of the copper mutts on the hunt
 What the fuck, this is not what my mother said I'll become
 Star-spangler wranglers got my hopes on the run
 Getting closer now, maybe our society's supposed to drown
 Middle finger up on the Titanic as it's going down