Hey yo,
my quality control, captivates your party patrol,
your mind, body, and soul.
For whom the bell tolls, let the ryhthm explode,
big bad and bold, b-boys of old.

(All members)
Many styles we hold, let the story be told,
whether platinum or gold, we use breath control.
So let the beat unfold, intro, on drumroll,
we be the lik, like e-tash and j-ro.
We harass niggaz like we was the po-po,
we can rule the world without Curtis and still blow.
Finesse, from SP to Casio,
your jams ain't def, you ain't fresh, your'e so-so.
The name of the game is survive and prove your flow.
You can't outtake Jurrassic syllable.
Cause it's survival of professional, radio,
stop and comprehend, and heed the words of my pen,
survival of professional poetic highlanders,
(Mark Seven)
Soup, you plan on rockin' somethin fierce?
(Zaakir)
Oh, am I,
Zaakir's the name, the aka Soup, uh,
the verbal acupuncture from ya dope oldschoolas.
I used to be the bubble for other that couldn't come on,
now they be the lovers of brothers they can't front on.
Put me in the mix, LP, 12-inch,
SP, the elegant, poetic pestilence.
I'm carbonated, the fanti-confederated.
Highly commemorated, and the most celebrated
for connecting it, word, verb, subject to the predicate,
plus I got the etiquitte, to keep it movin',
and showin' cats how it's done,
cause it's the verbal combat, position number one!
(Akil)
We keep it beamin like a beacon,
if it's lyrics that your'e seekin,
whether black or puerto rican,
people back us when we're speakin.
We got the kinda rhymes to getcha ready for the weekend,
(all)
to the mass amount of legions that came for party pleasing.
(Akil)
Our temperature is freezing, all kinds of different reasons,
the rhythm is the reason your'e checkin for what we've done,
please son, our thesis, we'll rip your crew in peices,
your rhymes ain't right, homeboy, you ain't in season!

(chorus)

(Charlie 2na)
Well it's the angelic man, wearing klan repellant,
my plan parent manuscript, withstands bullets.
Flashing like a Japan tourist, we command pure hits,
while you cramming to understand these contraband lyrics,
my fam submits to pray, five times a day,
climbing into your mind with live rhyme display,
J-five finds a way to remain supreme,
coming verbally artisan as if my name was Kadeem!
(Mark Seven)
Ay yo
my team dreamworks, without Spielbergs, or spill words,
communicate from the Earth, throughout the universe,
I transmit, transcripts, transcontinental lyrics,
deeply rooted in your spirits, uh,
I love the power of words, nouns, and verbs,
the pen and the sword, linguistic art of war,
no folklores or myths in my penmanship,
the Patha Skylar Warriors is what I present, uh,
verbally decapitating those against, uh,
Ja ha, veese ee vee lee la,
my words make sense,
you gosta get up on your vocab,
(all)
YOU GOSTA HAVE VOCAB!
(Mark Seven)
Letters make words, and sentences makes paragraphs!
(breakdown)
it's Mark Seven, 2na fish, Zaakir, and Akil.
Cut Chemist, Nu-Mark.
(Akil)
Yo, I make the pen capsize, the verbal with the planet eyes,
plannin knives, every pair that I utilize,
spit juice, I crack blood from your tooth,
inflict truths, speak allah's ninety-nine attributes.
(Charlie 2na)
You baby MCs drink pedialyte,
while underground doesn't like you, the media might,
but we the elite will change that,
as we bridge gaps in this lyrical grudgematch,
brothas, we slug back.
(Zaakir)
Yeah, we bless tracks with the help of a raw rap,
imprint it like paint tracks, all over your brain rap,
we mental manuever will clear and steer right through ya,
we grand like Puba, understand that we move ya.
(Mark Seven)
Hey yo my rhythm reveal, rollercoaster real deal,
revolutionize, we active build,
I plant my dreams in the field, and wait to harvest my skills,
for the starving MC, hungry trying to get a meal!
(chorus