Party people, rock to this... 

And all my deejays cut to this... 

And all my b-boys break to this... 

And all my fly girls shake to this... 



Last Emperor's back and you know upon hearing me 

Emcees are scared so prepare for Rap Tyranny 

There's no comparin' me 

Most men? 

Fearin' me 

(Broke no it's a rarity???) 

Mics I hold dear to me 

Cool and sincere one 

People wanna hear from 

Words penetrate eardrums like spearguns 

Run home 

Unknown places I appear from 

It ain't none of that jumpin' off over here son 

I clocked you 

Beat you 

Had to stop you 

Greet you 

I write rhymes in Hebrew, Arabic and Greek too 

I get so high, the slightest drop is lethal 

Like the South American city of Macchu Picchu 

Ladies say I do my thing with a passion 

Brother like the way I swing into action 

When I'm not coolin' in the crib, just relaxin' 

I'm out in the streets with the Red Army faction 

I specialize In microphone vandalism 

Surround sound, or better yet panoramic vision 

People of Earth know and understand the wisdom from 

Monotheism to third-world animism 

I get the best of men as the record spins 

I stretch my limbs and rhyme till the session ends 

No matter if, we enemies or the best of friends 

Against the Emp you can never expect to win... 



[chorus] 



Subjects and predicates 

Proper mic etiquette 

All beef, I'm deadin' it 

Hip-Hop confederate 

Face me, you better get 

High priest and Jesuits 

Against the Emp your attempts will seem effortless 

I make the girls wanna kick their heels up 

Klingon warships throw their shields up 

Rippin' the reels up 

Wounds never heal up 

Mad Soul controls the razor-sharp steel cuts 

High Tech or digital 

Audio or Visual 

Man or Machine can't defeat the Aboriginal 

Rippin' through 

My words are poisonous and medicinal 

With the power to heal and at the same time, cripple you 

You don't get a chance to rhyme 

This is battle time 

Even the brolic get silent like a pandomime 

The nicest point guard couldn't even handle mine 

With more magical music than Rogers and Hammerstien 

I made it to the top with a crew of born losers 

They told me the game was locked till I tore through it 

I get more props than a movie by George Lucas 

In two-thou look out for the Storm Troopers 

Don't sweat mine 

Learn to respect mine 

I bring womb to the REC Room when it's rep time 

Blast like nine shots 

Travel like TimeCops 

Aiyyo Mad Soul, this is where the rhyme stops...