Crew Chat: Senor / crews /

My talents outweight americas voters presidental ballets/

I dont know what crew to kickit with/ cuz my shits perfect with senority/

Senor perfecto has talents I consider to clickit wit/ we both have tha ILLIST shit/

Minutes seconds and on the hour I pound out ILL POWER /

My rymes arent fantasy's for lie-uz/

So thats why I dropped from real rymuz/

Two time-uz freezin frames/

yall know mah name and tha way I maintain/

Splatter intestines leavin no evidence of brains/

Mind of satan /

lookin for a crew that aint playin...  yall hit me up //

ILL POWER  gots my eyes lookin //

senor perfecto let me know sumpin/

Yo, Yo,

This kid's got talent like his mind is a palette,
And his try-outs are like a Real Rhymer repellant,
Transparent to all but the greatest textcees,
But Satan's still yet to spit against me,
So we keep it friendly, forgetting the beef,
You couldn't offend me if you called me a thief,
Cos I don't steal, I keep my rhymes real,
No hatin' on Satan cos he's got a mind of steel,
Your rhymes reveal paths to your own mind,
We both unreel our wrath down the fucking phone line,
But that's fine, at least here we won't get hurt,
We can do as we please as long as we don't spread dirt,
An alert to all crews, Mind of Satan can choose,
He'll refuse your crew if you don't share the same views,
If you play his game, lose, don't reply to his spits,
His rhymes will get you higher than the next time you get blitzed,
No debatin', this Satan's gonna keep on creatin',
Ill-Power's only baitin' you when they keep you waitin',
So stop wastin' your time by pasting your rhymes,
Battle these cats to give 'em a taste of your mind...

Adios...