The Microphone Molesta' Machete undresser Stupid dope fresh tight sh*t resurrector Top gun yeah mon best of the besta' The living MC peace and resta' Successa, the flexa gunna' The make funna the adversary make runna' Make summa cold with rhymes that spit Kickin' gifted, lifted, delinquent 'wit I be the prophet, my hand Top it, stop it, felt like rockin when I rock it Locked it down with this perverse verse Every f*ckin' curse I burst to hurt Move crowds physical fitness rhymes Coke heads couldn't do my lines Decorated like Christmas pines, my battalion rocks Emcees become silhouettes of shock Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days Hit the dirt Because the words I spit will do more than just rip your shirt I'll b*tch slap your soul Get back the track control You coming at me? You can't hack it though So ridiculous Watching my crew get sick with this Wickedness Pitchin' this Lyrical viciousness To crews and cliques Maiden, men, and mistresses This is my life The twilight, the fight night And trying to see nothing but the highlights When I write These eyes on horizons Die for my son, cry wrongs and Krylon Fire on, rude men telekinetically Esoterically beats become a clarity Feel verities, heroism, and heresy And sever every Emcee I see with severity Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days Why not... What I keep... Why not... What I keep... Why not... What I keep... Why not give me what I came to deserve Why not give me what I came to believe Why not give me what I came to deserve Why not give me what I came to believe Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days.