[Intro: Black Milk]
Yeah, ugh, yuh
[Verse 1: Black Milk]
For every pair of lines I spit
I leave you paralyzed and bent so clear a path
If you not parallel to my paragraphs
Apparently, if they say I'm better than you
There's no reason for me to put myself on the pedestal
Movin' forward ahead of you
Like you ridin' a bike and you can't move till' the pedals do
Nobody team's comparable
Niggas fallin' so fast, they need to pull the strings on a parachute
So stop the comparisons and get buried up under American soil
We can start with the letter U— S
Food for thought, thought for fools
Where niggas will take a life for the jewels and a pair of shoes
The hood is out for dollar signs (Ugh)
We'd trade the Heaven's skies for a slice of the devil's pie
Try to make it my downfall, but see all I know is the tour
Audiences' applause for the curtain calls
All the best now is spittin' the truth, why?
You's a let down like convertible roofs, I
See the mic and murder the booth, nah
Killin' shit precise like a snipe that's on top of the roof, ha
[Hook: DJ Premier]
"You, you, you love my style cause I'm not what you're used to"
"Caught in The Matrix"
"It's out of hand how the man gotcha"
"You're in my Dangerfield like Rodney"
"You, you, you love my style cause I'm not what you're used to"
"Caught in The Matrix"
"It's out of hand, how the man gotcha"
"You're in my Danger— field—"
[Verse 2: Pharaohe Monch]
Four-finger ring rap, sling slang, Pharaohe, the flows good
You couldn't hang if you was Ving Rhames in Rosewood
Couldn't string together some shows
If hoes would sing together with soul for you
And then you came w
I'm Billy Joel, I really soul
Might dust off some red vinyl that's really old
Or chop drums
On a roll while I'm shotgun with a wireless MPC 4000—I got one
I bomb crews, I'm hot
I'm cool, the Top Gun, but not
The Fonz or Tom Cruise, I got
A pool of lyrical warn shots that you shouldn't respond to
(Like) pant legs around the ankles of hipsters (I'm tight)
Paintin' a more visual picture than Pixar
Get more skull than Skeletor; I rip fuel
While y'all bite like parasites and pitbulls
[Hook: DJ Premier]
"You, you, you love my style 'cause I'm not what you're used to"
"Caught in The Matrix"
"It's out of hand, how the man gotcha"
"You're in my Dangerfield like Rodney"
"You, you, you love my style 'cause I'm not what you're used to"
"Caught in The Matrix"
"It's out of hand, how the man gotcha"
"Y—Y—You're in my Dangerfield like Rodney" (Yo)
[Verse 3: Sean Price]
It goes: "Punch, shoot, stab, kill
Smoke this, sniff that, nigga, pass the pills"
Niggas rapping 'bout daffodils—tree-hugger
That's when the gat slap your grill—P mug you
My defense is offense, offense is nonsense
Drunk with the kufi on, praying to Allah, bent
Clark Kent with the glasses off
Power-fuckin' Lois Lane 'cause her ass is soft
Crip tonight, but I'm a Blood today
Latin King tomorrow, keep it caliente
I send Spanish niggas to visit your label
Rep for mi gente and take your digital cable
The God, hardbody, y'all ain't physically able
To test me; I'm Jet Li, this whipping is fatal, ugh
Blast gats, y'all niggas is past-tense
Acting like a boss, get lost—what up, Hex? Rrr
[Hook: DJ Premier]
"You, you, you love my style cause I'm not what you're used to"
"Caught in the atrix"
"It's out of hand, how the man gotcha"
"You're in my Dangerfield like Rodney"
"You, you, you love my— my style 'cause I'm not what you're used to"
"Caught in The Matrix"
"It's out of hand, how the man gotcha"
"You're in my Danger— You're in my Dangerfield—"
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