[Proximo]
So, after five years of scratching a living in flea infested villages, we’re finally going back to where we belong. The colosseum. *Inhales* Oh, you should see the colosseum, Spaniard. Fifty-thousand romans; watching. every movement of your sword. Willing you to make that killer blow. The silence before you strike. And the noise afterwards. It rises, it rise up like – a storm. As if you were the Thunder God, himself

[Maximus] You were a gladiator?
[Proximo] Yes, I was..
[TyRaiD]
Slago, what up?
Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes! (x2)
Gotta nigga feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can’t stop me. No, ya can’t stop me!”
Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes! (x2)
Gotta nigga feelin’ like J League in they prime, nigga!
Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes!

Yo, disrespecters get dissected and severed apart/
Separate sections buried in several spots/
I’m thirty minutes into seven o’clock/
Terminal with the text, I’m surgical with the sentence, where the hell is my medical garb?! /
Earning frequent flyer rapid rewards/
Playin’ connect the dot with the map, rappin on tours/
The Arizona assassin brandishin’ swords/
Your patterns bore me, more annoying than that black chick who sang for Sanderson Ford/
Your lines bogus, lyin’ bout ridin’ Porsches/
Self-entitled nonsense, get off your high horses/
Or I’ll dismount you coons/
I’ll crash through windows, grab you, make us do a somersault, and throw you out the room/
You stupid bastards and beyond raw/
I run up on unsuspecting rappers, harassin’ them like the Nardwuar/
RoQ’s the Incredible Hulk in your concert speakers/
Fieldgoalin’ Volkswagen Beetles, flingin’ parking meters/
Eatin’ weak emcees with Chianti and Farver Beans/
I hate you niggas like my mama’s Paula Deen/
I scoff at your exhausted dreams/
Presenting intellectual art for this garbage scene, for listening to these bars, I should charge a fee/
I’ll make a killing in the game, like Aaron Hernandez/
I wrote this lyric in my brain while preparing a sandwich/
Every parable’s savage, veritable classic/
You squares better stay in your lane for a fairer advantage/
Instead of kissing butts over customer service/
This suburban brotha hustles like corrupt ushers in southern churches/
‘Til my buzz is perfect. Derek Fish in the clutch/
Too many lames around the table, that’s Dinner With Schmucks/
I laugh at these clowns, pass your bag and piece out/
Or I’ll dispatch of thee, Japanese Samurai style, you ain’t “active” you’re Action League Now/
The rebirth of thee herb/
M.O.B. t-shirts, skinny jean squeezers, pretending to be nerds/
You better do your research, or you’ll be desert/
You critics eat dirt, like Roger Ebert, you obsolete jerk/
Throw pedals on my feet, like I’m parading through Ancient Rome/
Greet me with a mini-me Khaleesi from the Game of Thrones/
It’s safe to say, I made my bones/
Me and my age bracket brought dope ass rappin’ back from the endangered zone/
What you niggas listenin’ to is the changin of guards/
Eighties babies, nineties kids, the head of the table is ours/
Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes! (x2)
Gotta nigga feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can’t stop me. No, ya can’t stop me!”
Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes! (x2)
Gotta nigga feelin’ like J League in they prime, nigga!
Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes!

[Proximo]
I wasn’t the best because I killed quickly. I was the best because the crowd loved me. Win the crowd and you’ll win your freedom
[Maximus]
I will give them something they have never seen before

[TyRaiD]
For this whole duration, you’re my slaves. No escapin’ the fathoms of my imagination/
I’m to cyphers what Manhattan is to Patrick Bateman/
When it comes to rhymin’, I am vengeful/
Disembowel rappers, throw they sacrificial asses down the stairs of Mayan Temples/
My British fans like “man, you’re mental. You’re whole project is monumental/
You’re the type of artist that has potential” /
My socket’s loose, I’m Doctor Doom, shockin’ you pompous coons/
Drop the mic and grip a mop and broom, you’ve not improved/
Your concert’s full of constant “BOO!” s/
Everybody wants to leave, like when Chris Bosh’s in a locker room/
Ominous plots for depositin’ guap/
Generic tats, saggin’ women’s pants, you look like Androgynous Pac/
Who you slain raw, hustlin’ trees/
You grew up playing pogs, watchin’ My Brother and Me/
You see, I don’t believe in leisure, I’ve got a comfortable lead/
It’s R-O-Q-Y, T-Y-R-A-I-D! One more time/

Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes! (x2)
Gotta nigga feelin like LB in they prime and ya, “ya can’t stop me. No, ya can’t stop me!”
Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes! (x2)
Gotta nigga feelin’ like J League in they prime, nigga!
Give me dope beats, dope mothafuckin’ rhymes!

[Proximo]
So, Spaniard, we shall go to Rome together and have bloody adventures! And the great whore will suckle us until we are fat and hungry, and can suckle no more. And then, when enough men have died – perhaps you will have your freedom