CON
Here to plant our flag on the land you once loved
Go pack ya bag and inform your loved ones
Make our mic gospel and leave yours unplugged
It's just us making your justice hush hush
Hired henchman with silent weapons
Using fixed lie detectors to reinterpret 911
What a fine collection to fight for vengeance
Your words get their just desserts with no time for seconds
The negotiations were but a formality
They knew we'd only accept more casualties
Casually causing a few million fatalities
Listing your victim's death cause as naturally
You had the law and the facts but we had the iller touch
Still won with nothing but lies and silver tongues
Our skill was such that your remaining populace
Were convinced that if it weren't for us they would not exist
Continue plotting nonsense as I bleed from my pen
Behead your ruler whilst taking a seat at his desk
Make you think we're acting on your needs and it's then
That the multis distract you from the evil intent

Chorus
Leer over the map as I write on my pad
DJ plans the best time to attack
Pack bag with tracks load rhymes in my mag
Jump out a trojan horse with my mic and my amp
Ride hi hats with a brigade of horsemen
Force our way in the cut and place informants
Words have a way of making you throw away ya caution
And reinvigorate your hate that was laying dormant

P44
I ain’t come far, guarantee that pen game has,
Since Norway gave me Magnus Carlsen endgame stats,
I shed back pack rap, when as a teen I fuckin ransacked that,
So fuck that man, you ochre twats can have that crap,
These days I talk mainly in hyperbole,
My vocab shows that I just finished my third degree,
Motor-mouth, showing off the circus freak,
Might expose the nerd in me, but who cares when you hit the beat this perfectly,
Big man in a small city, I got ‘em feeling all pissy,
These rappers can’t follow, let alone walk with me,
No hard life, this isn’t City of God,
Observational rap, do my best version of Phileas Fogg,
Rap like hell, heaven, Tartarus to pay,
Like I’m just trying to smooth talk Morgana le Fay,
Like I’m writing my last will before being John Carter’d away,
I’ll probably conquer Mars in a day,
Electric boogaloo, nah fuck that I ain’t doing no sequels,
We just trying to get through the people, something in tune with the Beatles,
Ain’t necessarily doing it peaceful, I’d rather smooth and deceitful,
Got your neighbours doing the foetal,
Rap in three languages, fuck would I slow it down for,
We’re a little past spitting bars here, call this a downpour,
And whether or not the weather left me weathered or not,
Never needed more words than the wordplay allowed for,
Since the Social Development made this language so elegant,
Be it rough and ready or candidly eloquent,
When you write this well there’s no need to embellish it,
You don’t buy it, so I got no intention of selling it,
I just wrote a soundtrack and injected myself in it,
Purpose in every bar, the hard part is improving on the state of the art,
It takes smarts, can’t rely on getting by being talented,
Whiter than ivory, so no need for addressing that elephant in the room,
Just assume, that we well and truly aware of it,
Couple middle-class white kids, handle the mic,
Like we Travolta hitting D-floors on a Saturday night,
They underestimate us, couple nerds, bump a verse and watch the room switch,
Give you something to move with,
Soothe with, groove with, open up the lube with,
Give you something you wanna pick up every girl in the room with,
Happy Hour was a long way from Battery Lane,
Conquest was a long way from the Con-P-Lation,
Hearing Things a long way from LAR back in the day,
Next album gonna stop the nation.

Chorus
Leer over the map as I write on my pad
DJ plans the best time to attack
Pack bag with tracks load rhymes in my mag
Jump out a trojan horse with my mic and my amp
Ride hi hats with a brigade of horsemen
Force our way in the cut and place informants
Words have a way of making you throw away ya caution
And reinvigorate your hate that was laying dormant