[Verse 1: C-Rayz Walz]
The truth is y’all haters had to lie to do it
I’m loose like this loop is with a loot chick grinding to it
Old-school like Colt 45, lunch lines, and Pumas. You heard
I blazed who? (What?) I deny the rumors. Your mic
Don’t sound nice—you shouldn’t even check one, two
I’ll disrespect who come through. My intellect is kung fu
In the midst of the women that miss the man, a new
Millennium bush baby with a mystic plan. Digi, digi
Download, SoundScan exams, top-ten choice
I wanna speak out—my label keeps getting my invoice, and if
I sound sarcastic, I meant to do it. Wack
Emcees’ breath stink—yeah, they need a mint recruitment
[Hook: C-Rayz Walz] (x2)
Revenge of
The first, rap, hip hop
Underground, mainstream. Stop, lick a shot
Pop, hit the charts, aim for the top
And still get down when we drop
[Verse 2: C-Rayz Walz]
(Why not?) I got
Different flows for different shows
You don’t know the half—(Why?)—I’m different on a whole
I’ll use a knife to cut class, but if the fight’s not ending, these old-
-school slugs can get your life suspended. You’re not
Safe with the ninja’s hatred agenda. Fix your shape
Up (Go ‘head, go ‘head), put your face in a blender. There’s no
Such thing as friendly contradiction. My competition
Loses consciousness of composition. While I’m on the
Toilet with an L, my shit is smoking. I got
Grown folks laughing—they think the kid’s joking
But I won't dumb it down to double my dollars. I'd rather
Piss on your lawn than leave a puddle in my boxers
Get knocked out before round one’s begun just for
Getting smart with me, and you sound dumb. Melon-head
Coward, motherfuck your honeydew crew that’s looking
No need to fight you, fool—my cough is whooping
[Hook: C-Rayz Walz] (x2)
Revenge of
The words, rap, hip hop
Underground, mainstream. Stop, lick a shot
Pop, hit the charts, aim for the top
And still get down when we drop
[Verse 3: El-P]
Yo, when I rap, you’ll hear
Spaceships and Martians and lasers and targets
I’ll face-fuck your bitch squad, lace anal compartments
Comic books, bibles, barcodes, orphans
This little tyrannical spitter living distorted
Disc wanna live in the clearing of sin fortress
Brooklynites babble on crass, blast portraits
Meanwhile, back in a boxcutter for tongue talk
Microcosm/Micro ‘cause I’m awesome plus dumb bop
Young cop rookie, the PJ beat nerve-rack
Tension. The city of stress depressed, words slap
Brethren. .45 dust dirty dumb shit
Analog funk shit puncture. Run, bitch
Cover. The cloud of defeat complete hovers
Juxie slow burn, slow-mo flow colors
Rookie, no run. Just, son, suck something
El-Product album of raw saw destruction
It’s coming
[Hook: C-Rayz Walz] (x2)
Revenge of
The worse, rap, hip hop
Underground, mainstream. Stop, lick a shot
Pop, hit the charts, aim for the top
And still get down when we drop
[Outro: C-Rayz Walz]
And this
Verse is the soundtrack to sickness. I’ll give it to
All y’all who think you can't get it
