Verbal Experiments

Intro: Madlib

Hah Hahahah...

From the dungeons of darkness

Comes God's Gift to Hip Hop

Representin' with the LP

[God's Gift]

We'll hit 'em hard and fast in a straight line

Concentrating all firepower to their blindside at sunrise

Operation sunray, UV radiation

First breach their outer barriers then continue penetration

To their central point, crushin' their nucleus

Rushing their central brain command

Planting a virus that expands

Through your whole nervous system shutting down all communications

To your ya bodily functions Handicapping your defenses

Swiftly attacking your unit, Neutralizing MC's

By ripping 'em apart before they even know what hit 'em

Style blitz

[Wild Child]

Jack gets pissed off, wack MC's step up and get lost

The rhythmic boss, Jack spits rhymes through my teeth like floss

I bust with motivation to uplift MC's with

High above controlling stratus clouds, my man God's Gift

Come down, assist us, wack MC's must be reminded

Get a Lootpack tape, rewind it, for those closed minded

To the abstract we kick, we rock all places

I found out MC's aren't human cuz they got two faces

They be chillin', willin', always time killin'

Wack rumor spillin' while Jack be still in charge

Asking me if I smoke chronic, niggas it's ironic

I'm Wild Child, 80% human, 20% bionic

My main occupation is to step up and rock the nation

Focus up upon my jam and blow up just like inflation

So if you ain't down, don't front, worry about your health

Worry about your wack crew and ya wack ass self

[Madlib]

Hey yo, here comes the Master Don, here to renovate

My style hits ya like marble weights so pass the dinner plate

But pass up the swine like money ya rhyme lime

Madlib done told ya time and time again

Find the mental maze, faster ya plaster your instrumental

With lyrical disaster till you scream out "Who's the master?"

I flip it up rip it up to raw addict

Crate diggin' for the static when I mad beat shop

Impulse down to prestige and Black Jazz

21st Century enja got mad

Record labels of the old, ill loop and take 'em out

I keep it secret when a nigga tries to peep shit

My beat hit like a Roy Jones Jr. skit

Your girl starin so now you wanna flip

I rip it down to the Loot while ya yell peace

While I pull out my piece, yell peace but now leave ya in pieces

But at least you escaped this beast

Smokin' on a cushin' leaf while ya try to bring grief

[God's Gift]

Now something's shaking in the palace, can't you feel the Santa Ana

Switching currents and building velocity, it got's to be

God's Gift and Lootpack, mentally superior master race of lyricists

Conductiong verbal experiments

With open and imaginitive creativity

Fathering styles from infancy to be lyrically

Complete, grown and fully developed adults

Trained in mastering total blitz coastal, total assaults

Also we launch all out war when we tour your area

First destroying your local underground spots

Rocked your major clubs and plugged into your theatres

Advancing as hip hop's vocabulary leaders

Hostile take-overs is our main focus

As the deadliest of CDP special attack forces

Basically, MC's lack division is appalling

Third rate styles with the nerve to say they're vocalists

Out of focus, often it's the people they run with

Coupled with their own wackness, they're futureless!

"And keep feedin you, and feedin you..."

*scratches and various talk to end*