[Intro: Trials]

You're dead!

[Verse 1: Trials]

Heltah Skeltah, check the homeless shelter for Dan

Doctors do nothing, only televangelists can (it's madness!)

I've got the medicine for anyone that let me in

Little house in the styx singin' hymns with Benny Hinn

Call me crazy, rappers call me the livest

Get together with they friends then call me on privates (woah!)

Would you look at that? They stayed at home

And single-handedly started a movement to bring sookin' back

Fuck outta here, I’m faded playing COD multiplayer

Eat the bread around the mouldy layer (yo)

I've got a cardboard box on Beef Street

Call in Michael Diamond - Skeet, skeet!

I give the mic a hidin'; easy, sitting [?] to the TV

Weekly, eyes lookin' like Steve Buscemi

I've got the mic and they said, "Don't be cruel"

I said there is no God, only Zuul (What's the deal?)

[Chorus: Trials]

I've got a very good feelin' things about to get bad (bad)

I get feelin' things about to get mad (mad)

Bad mood, uprisin' on the street, no survivors

No one can hide, no one alive

Got a very good feelin' things about to get bad (bad)

I get the feelin' things about to get mad (mad)

Bad mood, uprisin' on the street, no survivors

No one can hide, no one alive

[Interlude: Trials]

You leave the back door open? (That's some idiot shit!)

You left the back door open? (That's some idiot shit!)

You leave the back door open? (That's some idiot shit!)

You left the back door open? (That's some idiot shit!)

[Verse 2: Sesta & Trials]

I've got the death letter, signed, sealed and delivered

If you considering tears try it, then cry me a river

And I'll piss in it, listen, just look at the difference

It's a smack-bang in the grill, Gabrielle Giffords

You got it, bang bang! Cecilio, you're needy [?]

Get away in a big boat, nowhere to go to (bye-bye)

Uploading photos of my Anthony Wiener

You got to load 'em in a big modem, nobody seen 'em

You gotta look at me, honestly

Tell me when the fuck did these bodies appear and how we get 'em off the property?

I'll deal with it morally, (what?) just blame it on economy (oh)

Now go and get some barrels 'cause we're gonna do it properly

I'm tourin' again, not bored with it yet

I bought another magazine and now I'm boardin' a jet

If the plane goes down, I hope it causin' a wreck

You call it karma, I call it cause-and-effect (you're dead)

[Chorus: Trials]

I've got a very good feelin' things about to get bad (bad)

I get the feelin' things about to get mad (mad)

Bad mood, uprisin' on the street, no survivors

No one can hide, no one alive

Got a very good feelin' things about to get bad (bad)

I get the feelin' things about to get mad (mad)

Bad mood, uprisin' on the street, no survivors

No one can hide, no one alive

[Verse 3: Hons]

When I hit it, you better put it down one time (one time)

For the river 'cause my balls in the line

Now the 'oars doing fine, new family home

With the Golden Era squad, guaranteed to be dope

And we top billin' with a talent that God give 'em

Policy of The Quickening had to bring back the villain (hello!)

What up Vents One, I rolled balls with this fella once

Looking for that mellow buzz, ended up hella fucked

Little pill filled with ill shit like an enema

Hotel room filled with girls that are scared of the... (boing) (huh)

These pricks so inconsiderate

Till everyone around 'em in the tour party sick of them

Finish 'em, I probably did that myself

Two jugs at the bar, that's my picture of health

TAB ticket, top pocket, that's my picture of wealth

My vices, death till [?] see yas in hell

[Chorus: Trials]

I've got a very good feelin' things about to get bad (bad)

I get the feelin' things about to get mad (mad)

Bad mood, uprisin' on the street, no survivors

No one can hide, no one alive

Got a very good feelin' things about to get bad (bad)

I get the feelin' things about to get mad (mad)

Bad mood, uprisin' on the street, no survivors

No one can hide, no one alive

[Verse 4: Vents]

Me and Trials like Bosnia and Herzegovina

Come together, do work, keep stopping ya

Vents, the Funkoars, we the most furious five

You the most fabulous bi-curious guys

I bottled up the fury inside

And the anger I have as a charm, let it bang in the lab

Microphone, Joe Mengele, angel of death

David Koresh, the mad man, raised in the west

These rap cats is Rugrats, playin' with Vents

That's an idiotic move like shaving your chest

Setty X, Matt Honson, very bad problem

Kick you in the dick, get your toy piece stomped on

Vents one, reign of terror

Girls want to put my face on their chest like Che Guevara

Could you guess what my favourite era? Most classic

Burn in a flame you bastard, Vents

[Scratches: DJ Reflux]

"You'd be lucky-you'd be lucky"

"You'd be lucky-you'd be lucky"

"You'd be lucky-you'd be lucky"

"Getting out the back door"

[Outro: Trials]

(You're dead!) Vents one on the beats, he gone through 'em

(You're dead!) Funkoars on the beats, they gone through 'em

Anybody even try to oppose (stand back)

It's the assassination of John Newman