Another MC lose his tonight, Lord I beg that you to Jesus Christ, why Oh Lord, father don't let him bury me,
I haunt MCs like Mephistopheles, bringing swords of Secret keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy Abstract simple with a street format Gaze into the sky and measure by parallax Check out the retrograde motion, the notion Of biting and and calling it your own creation I feel like Rockwell, watching me I got no privacy whether on or at sea And for you biting zealots, raps are cacophonic Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside you you had the pop hit It hurts don't it, a refugee to your turf And over the earth
See my rhymes, are the type of fly can only get down with my crew And if you try, to take lines or bite We'll you how the refugees do
Yeah, behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes Two MCs can't the same space at the same time against the laws of physics So weep as your dreams break up like Eurythmics Rap rejects my deck, ejects projectile Jew or gentile, I rank top percentile Many styles, more powerful gamma rays My grammar pays, like Carlos Santana plays "Black Woman" So while you fuming, I'm consuming mango juice Polaris You embarrassed cause it's your last tango in Paris
And even all my logic and my theory I add a "Motherfucker" so you niggas hear me Crew take notes, as I sow my rap oats And for you biting zealots, here's a
Another MC his life tonight, Lord I beg that you pray to Christ, why Oh Lord, father don't let him me, whoa
You can try but you can't divide the These cats can't rap, mister I feel no Vibe The magazine says the girl should have solo The should stop rapping - vanish like Menudo Took it to the heart, but actor plays his part As long as someone was listening, I it was a start For me to get my chance, grab my pen and Do a cameo while everybody do the Quick now, cause you out of luck-a Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka While you munching at your I'll be your assassination, then hit you like the Dutchman
I compress sound sets my rap DBX drop vocals on my 456 Ampex Bring to the shop of horror As she cry, "mi amor," the phantom dies in the And to the younguns who gadgets And kill six days a week, rest on the Sabbath ain't necessary, unless you provoke me Then get like the great Mussolini And for you zealots, your rap styles are relics No matter who you damage, you're still a false