Indigenous to verbal combat
I'm ready for war, extreme battle over backroom bats
Put the map of toy soldiers employin the plan
Like a 4-star general, no gun in my hand
Peep the mic and blowin the scene out of proportion
With so much force the Unabomber heeds caution to my style
A form of expertise
To rock mics is titles, to own is sub-lease
The MCs only runnin up the rent
They steal for 2 hours, maybe one event
But that's it cause they put together like a kit
Or they square in the circle cause they do not fit
The description of rulin and rhymin, they're beat pimpin
All in my show up at the front stage sippin
The only beats you rock was that of an ass whippin
It's too hot for amatuer pots in Hell's Kitchen
So melt and run like butter in the beam of the sun
Or get spiced by the ill shogun
Rhymes set for some but I can turn the knob
To maximize the power to pop corn on the cob
Heartthrobs only make covers of magazines
The mic fiends rulin the world at club scenes
But not too many niggas sportin champion rings
From extremes for all the delicate stu- aww shit
Sorry bout that...