[Chorus:]

we rock all the way from san jose

to the east time zone cause my microphone is worldwide

you can't hide, no matter where you reside

and it's all the same from the shores of maine

to the left coast where the sun leaves ya stained

we steady rock that doin' it , rock that do it

still bein' ill when we check one-two it



[Verse 1:]

sit back while I come and attack the similac dance track

your headphone jack is still in tact cause my nack for ripping the abstract

practical tactics, you're getting your rap fix in plastic

cellophane keeping it plain we stain ears with cheers from volunteers

who loving their raps clear and simple, but at the same complex

so I gotta open up and spit the bomb text

the conquest-idor you requested for, so what you think I was bringin out my best for

to restore the art prepare to depart, from san jo yelling land ho we flow

through the record pop I'm reckin shop and never stop

from the present back when my record dropped I copped attention

to make you sit back and listen

and bring your seat to an upright position



[Chorus]



[Verse 2:]

lean back unwind, let your spine relax

these tracks gonna take you on a magical ride

bonafide and certified 100 percent real and ill

and still reinventing the wheel.

it's a one-two punch with all the splendor

wack emcees get their tapes returned to sender

I got places to go and people to see

mics to meet, beats to freak, got knobs to tweak

so turn up the maines, lobster gettin' hot

all the way to TJ to hit a taco spot

then head north on the 5, its all the way live

from the 214, bringing Christ to your door

now the rubber hits the road like adidas hittin' stages

I compose hits upon college ruled pages

used as my treble clef and so def

jose can you see, we love to emcee



[Chorus]



[Verse 3a:]

I'm airborn till I find the place I never been

While I'm piloting my pilot ink pen

We move to new places trying to keep pushin

And if you drown in the sound your seat cushion

Can be used as a device made for flotation

tourin the nation, rocking my playstation

in the back seat while I make blake drive

going city to city just living off the vibe



[Verse 3b:]

and i'm doing my best to avoid the road rages

bumpin' sting's third LP, the soul cages

hittin' thrift shops and only clean rest stops

hoping everything's great, haven't eaten since eight

when we stopped at quizno's, I guess anything goes

left my calling card in case anybody needs tracks

selling stacks of wax out the trunk for wages

traveling to festivals to emcee on punk stages