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
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