It's goona be that  it's gonna be that shit

 Hook:
 Lounge homeboy you in the danger zone (x8)

 Verse 1:
 Keith Murray is this mic phychosis
 I break your best rappers off thousands of pieces
 I'm on some other shit splittin' wigs with my penmanship
 Kick flows harder then the music so feel in your head and chest
 And pass it to the next
 They gave me 5 mic checks and all due respect
 So please fill it up and check the anitfreeze
 Cause this nigga Keith drop mad degrees
 I launch tomahawk missles when I talk with permiscuesus
 Intelligence like Mr. Romp
 From New York unto the world over
 I walk MC's like Jesus walked on water
 As my airy frequency reigns through the galaxy
 I easily gets busy and takes 3
 I'm the nicest MC on this side of the pennisula
 Stuck in the perimeter like a ninja

 Hook

 Verse 2:
 The Def Squad MC's is shittin' on your new transmitters
 Not quiters now forgetters
 Runnin' deep like rivers (word 'em up) what is
 My delivers, which is, givin' crews the shivers
 I'm like a mad scientist with this son
 I concock some shit that'll bust the sun
 I got the stunky funky illest funk flow
 For the glamorous scandalous world of radio
 So how you want? Headcreads or ceelo?
 I gets root deep like cavity cretes
 Rockin' motherfuckers directly to sleep
 A tybarrious rebel without a pause for the cause
 And no claws the style is the son of noise
 Peace to the hardcore the outlaw raw
 Bug youngblood thugs, strong as ? 64 ounce jugs
 In the realms of the danger

 Hook

 Verse 3:
 Bust the contrast and how I forecast
 Supersonic hyperphonic goin' on that ass paragraph
 With the million dollar bionic metaphoric lyrical math


 Generating off the chronic
 By cooling in the dark path and the drug rath of the ath
 And the ill shit that I craft
 It's labeled as sick logic to the critics of the didicks
 But they don't know the half of the half
 The apperatus status of a maddisist
 I conqure up a new style puffin' ganja, over the hook
 Causin' more trama with my mouth then the stealth bomber
 Killing every style in the book
 Like it's goin' outta style tomorrow
 My style is coming from down south and cross yonder
 I drop the dope shit for masses and non-believers
 Like spiral passes to butter finger wide recievers
 As my photo type sound gays leis and hoes my style probe
 To the farthest reaches of the globe
 Payin' dues got me cockin' tools, you fuckin' fools
 I'm rippin' crew and no exception to the the god damn rules
 This is danger

 Hook