Released on October 19, 1999

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[Verse 1: Pharoahe Monch]

Follow for now

For no formidable fights I've been formed to forget

For Pharoahe fucks familiar foes first

Before fondling female MCs fiercely

Focus upon the fact that facts can be fabricated to form lies

My phonetics alone forces feeble MCs into defense on the fly

Feel me, for real-a

Let's get the skrillas out the hands of these gorillas

Make the whole world feel us

From the crack to the cap peelers

To the niggas in the back shooting craps with the axe wielders

Relax 'til it's time for the immaculate miraculous

Thirteen, ow! The illest

To all my niggas who been shitted on, let's get it on

Dick, I'm gonna let it hang and sit it on

The desk of any redneck record exec

I strike 'em with the right hand, send 'em a step

And this is


[Chorus]

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)


[Verse 2: Pharoahe Monch]

Hell, incest kids under pressure

In the corner clutching their genitals by the dresser

A hundred CCs of the uncut cleanest

In the vein, 24 hours of intravenous

To the left, we have right-wing extremists

On a screen, a man exposes his breasts with no penis

My team is probably

Just as raw as Lady Saw and Chaka Demus is


[Chorus]

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell (this is), Hell (this is)

Hell


[Bridge]

This is, this is, this is, this is

This is, this is, this is, this is


[Verse 3: Canibus]

Yo, yo, I feel like I'm one of the livest

One of hip-hop's finest elite rhymers and I plan to graduate with honors

But one day, we'll all be a bunch of old-timers with Alzheimer's

Lookin' at our label's roster, wonderin' how the fuck they forgot us

After we done recorded dozens of albums

And made 'em hundreds of thousands of dollars, they still dropped us

We givin' niggas what the fuck they want

A holocaust, stompin' niggas with a thousand-man march

I ain't livin' in Hell, Hell's livin' in me

That's why I'm always screamin' on you fuckin' MCs

The shit that I quote, float with the buoyancy of a boat

With the potency of a scorpion sting to the throat

Overdose that's extremely fatal

Doctors in white lab coats scramble for an antidote to save you

You can't breathe, your chest feels painful

Your skin color's goin' from dark brown to beige-blue

Your whole room is full of angels

All in your ear tryna tell you which God you should pray to

You pray to Jesús, but he don't wanna save you

'Cause you unfaithful, so he gives you to Azazel

You're paralyzed on the operatin' table

Prayin' for Canibus to slice you from head to navel

We banned from TV, banned from CDs

Banned from DVDs and downloadable MP3s