Run The Jewels

Released: June 26, 2013

Featuring: Big Boi

Songwriter: Big Boi Killer Mike El-P

Producer: El-P

[Verse 1: Killer Mike & El-P]
I move with the elegance of an African elephant
I presented the evidence, eloquent as the President
Evident, it's with emphasis, I deserve me a championship
But before I banana clip, I'ma chill so my man can rip
Little man against Hellion with the heart of a orphan
I got the words of a murderer and a eye for distortion
You take a slice of my portion, I'll take a piece of your profit
I drive at illegal speeds and keep an OZ in my pocket
We run the jewels in your town, a quarter pound on my person
I'm known for pounding the stage, I'm talking burning and cursing
Producer gave me a beat, said it's the beat of the year
I said "El-P didn't do it, so get the fuck outta here!"
You wanna hang? Bring your throat, I got stools and a rope
I'm a slang pope, haranguing the land with a man's flow
A new addition to the art of the old code
That's fully retarded and put a part in your bold dome (Ay, El)
Ay, we the villains, we antagonist bad guys
Mercy me, merciless me putting pain in they sad eyes
It's time for Skywalker talkers meet the true Darth Vader
I hit your mom in '03, but a G ain't ate her
So baby boy, you should tighten up and show some respect
Before I Melvin on you, Jody, put my arm on your neck
Or worse yet, be the reason your girl want a divorce
Be at her crib with your kids saying "Fuck your fort, lil' nigga!"

[Verse 2: Killer Mike & El-P]
The style is radiation leak at Mile Island
Also known as Chernobyl talk, listen for the sirens
For the green, I'm a hoarder, you're the poor distorter, sorta
Morbid, sonnin' these fuckin' whore dumb explorers, we're bored
'Nough of your bummy shit, it's numb to the core, sure
You suck a good dick for the fame
And couldn't resist getting playedI fuck like I'm headed to war, I'm really not playing no games
But tag me, goddamn it, I'll kill the carrier mentions my name
Hey, I'm a soldier of fortune, a mercenary on beat
I'm merciless, I'll torture MCs, tie up both of they feet
If they refuse to run the jewels, we beat the bottoms of feet
I'm talking grip pliers, guys, to the top of your teeth
Hey, me and Jaime killed the competition, top of the heap
Is where we stayin' when they corpses resting under our feet
I sent they mom a little cash and a sympathy letter
Told her she raised a bunch o' fuckboys, next time do better, bitch

[Verse 3: Big Boi]
We the old Atlanta, new Atlanta; future of the city
Daddy Fat Saxx don't give a damn
'Cause can't nan' new nigga get with me
Now it's true, niggas are simply simple-minded, simple Simons
Being dumbed down by the local radio stations by designin'
But what I be rhyming? No payola is required
My bank account obese as fuck while yours sits on a diet
Nigga, your lease is up, you're fired; quiet, that's how the boss talk
Retain ownership on everything, every car bought
And paid for, no neighbors 'cause I'm sitting on acres
Went to Vegas, jumped the broom
'Cause I wasn't trippin' on papers
Or no prenuptual agreement for mama
If we broke up and she took half, I'd still be sitting on commas
Eight figures, nigga

No track is safe with the combination of Killer Mike’s aggressive flow straight from the ATL and the lyrical backflips and dense production by Brooklyn son and underground legend El-P.

The duo were first acquainted on Mike’s fully El produced and critically-acclaimed 2012 LP, R.A.P. Music. The two came together in 2013 to release an outstanding self-titled album that was widely considered one of the best Hip-Hop albums of the year. The name of the group is from the intro to LL Cool J’s “Cheesy Rat Blues”:

Just throw your hands in the air

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