One, two, I'm about to set this off, like this, hip-hoppers, check itAnother emcee loses life tonight, Lord I beg not you pray to Jesus Christ, why?Oh Lord, Father, don't let him bury me, whoaI haunt emcees like Mephistopheles, bringing swords edamame-lySecret service, keep a close watch as if my name was KennedyAbstract rap, simple with the street format Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallaxCheck out the retrograde motion, kill the notionOf biting and recycling and calling it your own creationFeel like Rockwell, somebody's watching meI got no privacy, whether on land or at seaAnd for your biting zealots, your rap's a click, I find itIf a print predict, but deep inside you wish you had the pop kitIt hurts, don't it? A refugee come to your turf and take over the earthSee my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes That can only get down with my crewAnd if you try to take lines or buy rhymes We'll show you how the refugees doBehold, it's my old man to fold on your rhymes Two emcees can't occupy the same space at thesame time It's against the laws of physicsSo we bezier, sweet dreams break up like EurythmicsRap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile Whether Jew or gentile, I rank toppercentile Many styles, more powerful than gamma raysMy grammar pays like Carlos Santana played Black MagicSo are you human? I'm consuming mango juice under PolarisYou just embarrassed cause it's your last tango in ParisAnd even after all my logic and my theory I add them up aloneSo you ignorant, you can't hear me And remember, take notesCause I sold my rap oats For your biting zealots, here's a quoteAye, another emcee losing life tonight Oh, I beg that you pray to Jesus ChristWhy? Oh Lord, Father don't let him bury meAye, you can try but you can't divide the tribe These cats can't rap, Mr. Author, I feel no vibeThe magazine says the girl should've went solo The guy should stop rappingVanished like a noodle, took it to the heart But every actor plays his partAs long as someone was listening, I knew it was the startFor me to get the chance, *** my pen and revamp Do a cameo while everybody do the danceQuick now, cause you're running out of lucker Playing Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you suckerWhile you munching at your luncheon I'll be planning your assassinationThen hit you like the DutchmanI compress sound sets with my rap DBX Then drop vocals on my 456 AmpexBring Terra to the shop of horror As she cry me out moreThe phantom dies in the operaThe two of the youngins who carry gadgets And kill six days a week, the rest on the SabbathViolence ain't necessary Unless you propose we then get buried like the great MussoliniAnd for your biting zealots, your rap stars are relicsNo matter who you damage, you're still a false propHey, another emcee loses life tonight Lord, I beg that you pray to Jesus ChristWhy, oh Lord, Father don't let them bury meWhat's going on, man?Yo, kid, we can't let these cops come around here and just do whatever they wantRob jokers, steal from people, shoot us down We gotta do something about this, manI was with Floyd up there, you know Floyd the copHe just get a hard-on for just shooting