Fresh up out the mind of a mad man’s vision
Comes a crew makin hits harder than car collisions
It’s the Rakontyr clique, that’s if you don’t know the name
While this beat is catchin’ fire, from these niggas throwin’ flames

Masta Artisan
The four winds are blowin to and fro, somethin’s brewin’ slow,
Zephyrs peppered with specters of a typhoon in tow
Just small gusts of wind, but then it ushers in
A chaotic wall of sound which starts blusterin’,
And this masterful manipulation of air
Twists and pops to make everyone awake and aware
Of a force that can’t be seen, but seems to have arisen
From nothin’, blowin’ away the masses from the destruction

Blak Neon
Destruction as ugly as Rottweiler’s so when I say I pop collars, means my style is off the chain no shot callers
These niggas is all a shame, but my plot follows a scheme that’s all insane
The shit that got scholars in the Halls of Fame
They call me god as if I’m Charlemagne,
But I’m not all this, it’s the alcohol to blame
That mauls the brain
Cause boring shit is what you all remain
The fact that you’re all the same, makes me holler “lame”
So I brought skill to appall the game

Fresh up out the mind of a mad man’s vision
Comes a crew makin hits harder than car collisions
It’s the--

Ayo, I wasn’t fuckin done yet!
So anyways, I’m bumpin something unchecked
That’s a sudden upset
To the status quo, takin roughened blunt steps
To shine like the Aurora Borealis glow
Or like a fuckin’ sunset, but it didn’t fit with the vocalic show
Which gets viciously viscous when he dishes these thick hits
That run flows like rivers and your ears are like fishes…
Okay, now I’m done…

Andre:
Yo, forget what ya heard, it’s time for the main event
You was in they top five, I arrived, and away ya went
Handle my business, and still remain a gent
And receive props without giving away a cent
I know these rappers mad, I’m leavin’ all of ya pissed
But you’re askin for it, beggin like Oliver Twist
They wanted somethin’ new, and you could not deliver
Meanwhile, new styles is what I got to give ya
You wanna prove you’re hard, talkin’ this or that
And puttin’ hands all on people like twister mat
Well go ahead then, choose the path ya like,
But as for me, dude, I’d rather grab a mic
Skip the legal fees, and the bad kharma
And get them bodies movin’ like a snake charmer
Then I collect the dough I made from rippin’ this this loose leaf
And skkkrt off like the groupie trynna seduce me
Plus it’s a waste to skill, goin’ after y’all
Might as well catch a rattata with a master ball
If they need wack shit, they’ll give ya ass a call
But until then, bounce like a basketball
And make way For the squad of the century
Killed this shit in four lines, the rest were complimentary
This flow’s nasty, a saturation of the rhymes
Which is known as the collaboration of the times