Forrest:
Ain't nobody going to hold us back this time, do or die.
And we're going to fly, raise your hands to the motherfucking sky.
Just so you know, we are the Forty Psychic Frames,
Never the same, but we always maintain,
And our rhymes bring pain like a shot to the brain,
And I'm hardly sane, lighting flames with the propane.
Psychic Frames with the style of the Crane,
Aim, take a shot, whatever you got,
You can't match our expertise with cash.
Hack and slash on a 20.
Naturally apt to bash,
and smash your ears in with these lines,
all the time, it's a sign
That my words turn water into, into

DJ D:
Rhyme shows up and its ready to bust, it's about to set it off, straight adrenaline rush
Rush right past and you're ready to blow, it's a kick crack cracking fucking 40-p show
Right to the left, and left to the right, put your ear to the speaker fucking sitting front row
Real fighters in the front, spinning discs in the back, your mind explodes, 40 psychic attacks
Bounce to left and bounce to the right, put your hands in the air, fucking feeling the might
Bound to your feet when you hear the track, it's easy to remember the name and react
Bout to set it down, set it up, set our sights, it's so easy with the lyrics so right
Bout to set it down, set it up, set our sights, we make it look easy, with a crew so tight
Crack, crack-a-lack, as my boys attack, Wy-man on the beat and it’s a criminal act
CH isn’t here, but his storm explodes, I’m sure he’d say something bout blowing your loads
Counteract Fojay and he’ll cause you pain, flipping your shit is the name of the game
Can’t have a track without Scurves and Ant
They be the illest fucking killers since fucking sliced bread

Wyatt:
Take back the books that you left
the vinyl, the secret notes
those enclosed in envelopes bereft of anything sincere
so here you go my dear
I'm going to say what you don't want to hear
or do you? "I do!" "No you do not"
this stopped at the drop of a cliche "Let's talk"
you left behind all your Fitzgerald's
and you didn't end your subscription to the Sanford Herald
that sit soaking wet in the driveway
I can't pick up yet every Wednesday the walk weighs down on me
pulling the trash can back all I think is the RBC you held in your mouth
and the sounds of the south bound train
hitting the windows like a warm summer rain
I'd kill to know his name
and then myself because there's nothing left here and it's all a goddamn shame

Scurvy D:
Guess what y’all feeling good today
got beats, got bud
so we feel no pain
We rock, don't stop
fuck hooks fuck chains
fucked our brains with the fruits of grains.
Pack the pipe with Scurvy's leaf
earn a frame when we roll 40 deep
Three sheets they new and we keep them clean
get ripped up when we spliff them bleems
Roll Back Cracker
Frames on attack
can't slack
hot tracks
got to reach the racks
no cell phone
I can't be tracked
on the d/l
when the lighters flash
notch a point
when the nets get crashed
Me old Phelps always make a splash
hit up the R for another bash
live every day like tomorrow is our last.

Anthony:
Breaking out my shell, smashing Crystal Skulls.
Cause for applause.
Got more balls than a Shobiz Pizza Ball Crawl, or was it Chucky Cheese?
Fuck pizza I'm a go Chinese.
Gangstaish.
Scorsese.
I'm a Goodfella Wack-a-mole.
Karen Hill, Pack-a-hole.
Cops trace the line, Ant runs out the back
In disguise without my hat, make them think, "Oh who that?"
Oh shit my accent slipped, oh, sometimes I do that.
Money stacked like Legos, Let go my Eggo
Where is Carmen Sandiego?
Under my gumshoe bitch, I'm a stomp you.
Ain't no one want to fuck with me!
Catch me on TMZ in the limos fingerbanging chicks 'cause they go commando
Maybe it's laundry day, get my facts checked
I know they do it for the easy access.
And I do it 'cause they got great assets.
And we do this for the indo' grasses.
Bombass track and tight beat made by Wy-man and a couple puffs and six packs.