M ILL-ITANT, feel the 5th guerilla chant
Y'all talk about bodies but you would not kill a ant
My skill is amp, would peel a nigga like a stamp
Caliber is of Excalibur now you be damp
When I operate a crowd will copulate
My game'll make a room populate and 2-1-5th is the stock of hate
Peep the logistics, slump your squad of misfits
They all get they wrists slit, blast your ass if you insist it
Leave no trace so there's no trace for ballistics
Turn your soul and body to statistics
In particular I've got that extracurricular
Squad in the stash who could be stickin ya
Slip and they vickin ya
Harass your po-lice commissioner
Don't like chicks with weaves talking 'bout, "I need conditioner"
That shit's deader than niggas with a morticianer
A janazah, up in your flesh like plasma
Take away your last breath when you got asthma
Then meet Bad Lieu down at the plaza
Hip-hop extravaganza, tell your man I slump him with a stanza
Now "Who's the Boss?" not Tony Danza
My force not green but the force is obscene
P.O. took a piss test it came out not clean
Brody with my man Miz-Moose and Hakeem
My squad from deuce-four up to West Oak Lane
All the way to Tackawanna and Frankford they know the name
It's like that... M-Ill-itant