(feat. Keith Murray)



Yo, yeah, uhhhh

Yo whattup?

Yo, it's the lyrical lexicon

The matador of metaphor

Mista Keith Murray

Chillin with my nigga Funk Flex

Word up

Got the Squadron, word up

Word up, check it out, check

Now, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo



It's the return of the lyrical lunatic, still kickin rough shit

What you say?  I slap your stink ass, bitch

I shape and build my skill like an architect

Teflon style, rhymes be Gortex

I'm the highest exalted ruler on the mic with props

All this over hippin the hop bullshit gon' stop

It beez Keith not Bill, Murray not Sweat

Your politics be politically incorrect

We keep it hot like sauce, flows be definite like well OF COURSE

Def Squad cough a rough course

You weak wack niggaz can't do me none

Five hundred, radiant height I run with the sun

Apparently, you need to check my pedigree

And do the knowledge to the S-C-I-E-N-C-E

Fake ones fear it, real ones cheer it

Cause they all feel me from the womb of the human spirit

With logic and reasons I justify my means

See you on the scene, fuck you up like Tyson did to Mitch Greene

In fact black yeah it beez like that

If you kill my dog I'ma slay your cat

The supersonical genitonical astrochronical

Splatter crews, all you hear is ahhs and oohs

Time to face the music bring you down to Earth like Papa Smurf

I'm World Wide like on the Web, in your turf

With full fledged raps packed with anxiety attacks

for those who thought I wouldn't be back

With that bone chillin horror, killin all ongoin drama

Save the rah rah for your mama

Bragga-tocious, prone to static

Come through the studio, wreck the mic by force of habit

Tantalizing, make you feel good like crying

I can't be dissed, so you can stop trying

And Keith Murray will prevail

And you can eat a shit sandwich and go to hell