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rodan - century 21 lyrics

rodan ft. megalon – “century 21”
[emcee(s): rodan and megalon]
[producer(s): b-wyze]
[sample (melody): alanis morissette – “thank u” (0:00)]

[intro: rodan and megalon]
rodan: previously on monsta island
megalon: my uzi weighs a ton. tommy gunn, rodan. i’m the neighborhood bum, one!

[bridge 1: rodan]
monstas
thugging through your stratosphere, sky portraits got you open
and horoscoping

[interlude: megalon]
monsta island. my uzi weighs a ton. my uzi weighs a ton

[verse 1: rodan]
yo
many leaps of faith with shocks missed and waited, sharp jewels
became more sophisticated, got emerald city wishes and made it
precious stone, tenement styles are innovated, beat the odds
out of casinos in h-ll. heavyweight wrists, son, taking what?
asiatic galactic, super nubian jesus, deities out
the east stay sh-tting on riot polices. from fly fubu
fleeces to leaves with fat creases, remember every member of my family
tree is god, limb-to-limb b-boy polytheist
monsta jet knievel fly through the eye of a needle, pack a nickel-plated
medieval, silver spears causing m-ss upheaval. while you’re
praying for my downfall, i stay spraying your whole cathedral
spirit prolific, iron to rip it specific, scriptures pre-neo-
-lithic—take my word for it like a film critic. nasty, born
to spray-paint the white house in explicit hieroglyphics
premonitions of genesis, four hundred year prime nemesis
grammar like a hammer—”u can’t touch this” black lyrical supremacist
snitching n-gga blow whistles, swift n-ggas dump missiles
local, unofficial, all-eye-seeing dark crystal
i’ma solar broadcast, using low-frequency smoke signal
unoriginal prophets from your s-x or crime sales
shake down your lying rhyme tales where every other line fails
compared to mine, your stale, lackl-ster, weak shine pales
measure my date of origins in planetary time scales
no surprises, et tu brutus, back-stabbing–ss judas
i bear witness, peeping through your whole outline like you a nudist
you clueless

[verse 2: megalon]
it’s black jesus. i went to queens and got my wings
gat squeezes, but everything ain’t what it seems. he pack
heaters, put one in your spleen and run up on dreams
black divas shaking their thing for the king
black jesus, broken gl-ss all over the place
at the greek fest, -ss all over the place
black jesus, scabs all over my face
black caesar, gats all over my waist on my way
to court. co’s har-ss you, do things they don’t have to do
time to serve fast food, 64 with six bags of cashews
take collateral, cash rules, my gats’ll move more caps than you
rap jews have never had jewels. i drop jewels international
just left the devil’s castle. my local vocal choke you and trap you
the joke is you—they’re not laughing with you, they’re laughing at you
they’re laughing without you, they’re laughing about you. the born-in-brooklyn
bad news, back to you with some more bad news (blasphemy)
believe me, black jesus. you blast for me, i’ll blast for you
actual facts are thrown at you. tommy gunn
rodan—when we die, our heads be statues

[hook: rodan and (megalon)]
intellect reflect, refine. bop your head, respect mines, godly
signs, supreme a-alike minds attracting shine, divine
by design. sit back, relax with a dime, mark the days
swear by the time when all snakes fall behind single
line and weak spine. true and living pop rewind, seek
knowledge to nines and let your thoughts incline
century is 21, wack sh-t get more rotation then the
earth around the sun (my uzi weighs a ton)

[verse 3: megalon]
bust you in your
forehead four times with a four-four, make your whole
face look like a candy apple. i’ll grab you and throw in the clap at you
my attribute (who?), the black jesús. i could’ve
tackled you in the tabernacle and did what i had to do—that’ll do
p-ss dudes grat-tude. i ain’t mad at you, my tattoos a temple
too. supernatural, could’ve clapped you. instead, i catch you
angel of love and angel of death just p-ssed you
don’t look in the back of you. in the rapture, i’ma rap to you wack
emcees. like a sneeze, i’m coming at you/achoo
blasphemy. black jesus. you blast for me, i’ll blast for you
rodan, back to you

[verse 4: rodan]
yo
my flows, through combinations through sound, go to town. no jokes
for you jack-nicholson, weird-al-yankovich–ss clowns
pound for pound, swing a major league forty-four like hank aaron
architect supreme, “macking my knife” like bobby darin, broad-jump
males, scrub b-tches riding my rail, chasing my holy grail now
feeling me like braille, gas-mask wack f-ggots on wax, make
sands track to max out of jail now. munic-p-l bondage and county
housing, we was gods fed up. sound knowledge, none of these d-cksucker
co’s could see a line to head up. piledriver persona with a
chevy tacoma, one owner, one corpse in the trunk, decayed
body aroma. slip and slide from daytona, a thousand miles across
the deserts of arizona, solar nova corona, sahara
heat donor, my uzi shine bright and gave thirty-three beams of light glaucoma
petty hearts harbor jealous l-st, infected brain cells suffer
cellarous. i grew up here, and true could fellas bust
see divine blood and archangels kiss the sky, smoking stellar dust
whatever gush, my treasure plush plus a pleasure rush
from every beretta crushed, a physical sport, deadly biblical thought
the original man taught: dump the body in the nile river
peel out in the 2000 digital grand sport, animation
undetectable, your life’s unethical, public during a spectacle
skeptical hits don’t amount to sh-t like my p-ss in a receptacle

[bridge 2: megalon]
rodan
tommy gunn—when we die, our heads be statues

- rodan lyrics

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