[Hook: Cecil Otter]

Got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceilin'

And this axe that we're wieldin' will react

When we're feelin' that crack, attack, attack

And we're on on ya like like a Mack Truck

Your honor, we are that fucking filthy

[Verse 1: Sims]

It's 2000 and self destruct

Everybody yellin' that shit's all fucked

Yuck, never liked the construct of that square wheel

Like, like "money ain't real"

Wait... but that ain't real

Oh, oh, now I get it

We could take it all and split it, give it to the village

Doomtree villains, out for the killin' - huh, no kiddin'

Good man, but I went a bit bitter

When they took a little dinner up off my plate

High stakes - okay, I'll play

But it ain't your game, and it ain't your rules

And it ain't your world, and I brought my crew

We some dirty lippin', "fuck your rules" livin' ugly goons, haha

It's no kings - no way

You're so vain, you probably think it's 'boutcha

Well it is, and it ain't

And it ain't, but it is

I go so fuckin' nasty, no restraint

Well I get props, and I play it off

And I see them hot, but I fade 'em all

Hello, world, it's L.O.P

B.T.Z., keep the ring

Move out my way, let me do my thing

Lemme do my thing, I'mma do my thing

[Verse 2: Mike Mictlan]

Friction lock rivet

Goonish as all fuck

Prudent to all stunts

Provin' the laws of logarithm

Like the wag of a dog's tail, bark back (woof!)

Light the rag on your cocktail, spark that

Champ on that slang chop, chump on that chomp rap

Prob'ly a stomp sack - man, give me my prop back

Hold your tooth to my non dap, I ain't no Diddy boy

That Beni know we go scrimp dance

Dougie, don't stop that!

Senor F-R-R Z-Three-R-Zero

None other, who's kooler, hula-hoopin' through bank zeroes

Hewlett-Packin', loogie yackin' on Don Hero's

Bomb appearance, nights in Paris, raw dogging cross limos

Toss demos, snot rockets blow up the sub-labels

Long tables, callin' shots on a crowd potato

The slang mongrel, fanged tonsils, we slay goblins

Gay-ngly gay-ng violent, wrangling fake monsters

[Hook: Cecil Otter]

We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceilin'

And this axe that we're wieldin' will react

When we're feelin' that crack, attack, attack

And we're on ya like like a Mack Truck

Your honor, we are that fucking filthy

Got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceilin'

And this axe that we're wieldin' will react

When we're feelin' that crack, attack, attack

And we're on ya like like a Mack Truck

Your honor, we are that fucking filthy

[Verse 3: P.O.S.]

Ay, what's up? No kings

No love for your made up things

In the paint, but it ain't no game

On the wall with a little complaint - leave that stain

Weave through cities dodgin' rain

No thing but an open door

It's yours, no lie

But you've got to get dirty, man, fix your pride

We some "preach-em'-real"

"Reach-'em", "steal-'em-from-low-ideals" type dudes

With a stepped up set of skills

And an ick style so kill that wills update daily

No frills or pilled up babies

No posture phony, just rock solid

Un-fuck-with-able dropped knowledge

No love for the bull

Horns, give 'em

Thorns, get 'em in

Swarm, let 'em make friends with a storm

Buddy up, get close to the war

Insides out, no love for the boring

Naw, bored, and I bet the heart's off

And beatin' under hardwood flooring

Poor man's Poe

[Hook: Cecil Otter]

We got cracks in our armor, got cracks in the ceilin'

And this axe that we're wieldin' will react

When we're feelin' that crack, attack, attack

And we're on ya like like a Mack Truck

Your honor, we are