"All Well"

(V1.)
Well... I'm back once again in the muthafuckin' house,
Mad dumb game to unbutton your blouse/
All the bitches & the snitches & the cunts & the stunts,
Up in the back of the clubs, with the wackest of dubs/
We be smacking them up, you getting done like bumps,
Cus this is for the brothers in the front with the blunts/
Grunting & sweating, while I'm spitting hot shit,
Stage diving, slam dancing, ripping shit up in the mosh pit/
Looking for trouble, with the hustle and bustle,
Well look no further, here's Kabal & Krustull/
Ready to rumble, like Mike Rotundo,
You're getting lost like a wallet in El Segundo/
Getting squashed by Bundy running in the turnbuckles,
But fuck John Cena & his five knuckle shuffle/
Enough about mat shit, wrasslin' tactics,
Rather run with Mach Spitz in the Half Verbal Gymnastics/

(Chorus)X2
When I gotta flip, routines,
Anytime I rip, I rip the mic well/
When I gotta spit, new steez,
Never lose my grip... It's All Well/

It's all well...

(V2.) [Mach Spitz]
We crush the jump and then we ghost that bike
Bum rush the bump and then we roast that mic
We hush all chumps and then we post up like
Double clutch and pump fakes yer crossed up (psych!)
Changing the scene again, fake dogs like Finnegan
Dressed up and shipped up off to Shawinigan
Steppers can't keep up best get your beef up
Theo with the beat down now yer picking teeth up
Sleepers perpetually woke up
Ears hear this here ,eyes tear ya you choke up
Knuckles brass? Check. Mask? Check. Ya we cloak up
5 dollar Busters get ripped wrapped and smoked up
The Pza eating trash crushing Don Delawheeze
And the Long don quad street Kevy with the steez
Still running this shit from our laptops
Make sure yer yap stops when the boom Bap drops, well...

(Chorus)X2
When I gotta flip, routines,
Anytime I rip, I rip the mic well/
When I gotta spit, new steez,
Never lose my grip... It's All Well/

It's all well...

(V3.)
I started pouring out of loneliness & boredom,
A silent assassin who put the social in disorder/
But then I flourished with the hope of being cash cropper,
See me resurface with the dope beats in Grasshopper/
& then the scene crashed, dream land gassed,
Grab a gas mask, some Mike's & some mics, & then we 3 n' Pass/
Once the smokes gone we hack twelve cones,
Grow my Afro & now you call me Black Belt Jones/
Sold my soul to the microphone stuck in my sticky fingers,
Throwing devil horns with a bunch of sucka Wiggaz/
Mashing fly riffs, if you catch my drift,
Sorta like a con artist when I'm snatching with Grift/
From the Don Stefano, to the Dons of The Dead,
To the Rotten Utensils, to the Street Trash kid/
30 years in 8 bars I never fumble or fall,
& now an army of one that you be calling Kabal/

Can't you see? It's all well,
Still be coming with the sound
to make you break your neck/
Can't you see? Time don't tell,
Never gonna stop me wrecking shop/
Can't you see? This is Hell,
I gotta gang of troops with super loops
For punishment & crushing/
Can't you see? It's all well
It's all well, It's all well,
It's All Well...