Yeah
 For all those affiliated
 Yeah yeah
 [Tame One]
 Word is bond my songs ain't wack, and any nigga
 who thinks that, they must can't rap, and can't get that
 I got dues with receipts, peeps who make mad beats
 So if you get souped, I add beef
 Commander in Chief of the belief fonta leafs burn slower
 The end knot mixin E&J with soda keeps me geeked up
 So if you got weed then speak up
 so I can twist up and leave you with that shit in tea cups
 We bust the raps that matter, while you battle
 your own boys, just to check to see who's fatter
 I put it together like McGyver, bombin your rhyme cypher
 Helpin to represent funk like diapers
 I'm one of them prime time rhymes without rotation
 but I'm patient, cause Tame One don't owe no station nathan
 I'd rather hide my tape collection like I'm Nixon
 Watergate nine-six in effect, the deck's missin
 Chorus: El Da Sensai
 Crews get taken out quick, who's the best
 Tame and MC El bringin lyrics to ya chest, one two
 (repeat 2X)
 [El Da Sensai]
 One two, Artifacts, nine-six
 My forms, patterns, some might think it's arrogant
 I'm transparent, but with lyrics it's apparent
 That I be the greater rhyme stater with the data
 Saturn Sega, player, wack nigga hater
 Instant flow, like five minute grits flips
 To rock for the Jack's haps be on some other shit
 Uncover skits like a private dick hits
 From all different directions, chop you into sections
 like a jigsaw, shit be raw, rock for alla y'all tall
 raps, and brawls, touch all jaws
 with the gall, foot in the mix like Hammer grammar forms
 Check the track, flip the song Hits From the Bong, wrong
 Side bumpin in your ride
 Graffitism tokin ism gaggin off the lyrical jism
 New Jersey native, creative with the sorts
 B-boy wishin for battles check the injury reports
 But there are no flaws in this rap lord's rest
 Open wide niggaz, we bring it to ya chest
 Chorus