*reggae growl* I diss batty bwoys like Buju
 Banton, rippin wan-tan destruction
 Sag my pants to stop the suction plus it's quicker when I'm fuckin
 Split Dutch Master faster I puff izz that causes asthma as dust
 Some say from NJ, quick to give up papes
 Beef'll keep it street, defeat niggaz who sleep
 or reap the concrete status kick your ass with my apparatus
 Those who, oppose this, split their shit like Moses
 My written tabs is rippin fags and the whole bit
 I murder mics and tape decks, so check it while I wrecks it
 far from junkies keep it real because I'm hungry like the Bundy's
 ("Al!!")
 Got more rumble than thunder crumple chumps like they was paper
 Eight for keys, make G's, but One of Tame made these
 Conjunction junction what's your function on the real
 My mass appeal is real I swim through beats like Navy Seals
 Irregular, my style, suckers competitors who think they better
 I knit my skit, like my Grandma's sweater
 Nuts who want to inflict, harm against the charmer
 Best to rest their case because I wear medieval armor
 To protect, my subjects, my style's quite hard
 Never could you copy cause my style's quite odd
 Select the best concepts, context to rhyme text
 Plus a twenty dollar bet, niggaz flexi wit da tech
 Chorus: samples of Jeru the Damaja and BizMarkie
 "The tech's technique, cause he's a technician"
 "One two, whatcha gonna do"
 (repeat 4X)
 Verse Two: El the Sensai, Tame One
 I rip rhyme charts apart, I jump-start on the gunner
 Arrest niggaz like Honda from the under never blunder wonder if
 I get stiff, I'm bound to catch an L
 Nah never that I'm down with Tame I'm MC El
 Lately playin Hurricane G demos in my WalkMan
 I walk and I talk and read issues of The Source and
 check out the dreadlocks in Bedrock puffin indo
 by the branch like plants, and do the cypher dance
 Then it's back to the set, to write raps about my eps
 Takin tokes for the stress as I get flexi wit da tech
 Ah, I whip the lyrics up, like batter chatters on the verge
 I sink all ships and watch you crabs submerge
 in depths of the boat doper ropes to distort
 All sorts of brothers abuse my styles I must abort
 I do jobs like miles around the necks of the title
 I win it hands down and pants down cause I'm vital
 The tech, might you wanna get mad, now freak the plannin
 Plus I flips it skip the handscans I'm woozy when I'm splifted
 Yeah still high the ill fly, red-eye rundown a semi
 Automatic Artifact with knaps causin heart attacks
 to critics and honeydips, who jeered on my lyrics
 And slept when I dropped that "Do You Wanna Hear It?"
 Cause from sun-up to sundown, my eyes are red and rundown
 I still smoke a pound if strong peeps hit the town
 I'm flexible like every female Huxtable was fuckable
 Impeccable, dispicable, on point like a decimal
 Point twice the joint jumper nicest with the mic device
 Mighty like Isis, gimme boom I rips a crisis with the stress
 (with the stress) unless I'm gettin flexi wit da tech
 Chorus
 Shut up, you're talkin too loud, you're talkin too loud
 Peace to the whole city of Newark