Soul Searchin'

[Hook]

For the emcees that we know that can't rhyme

Whether on tape, 12 inch, they flat-line

Either you rhyme for a livin', or livin' it for the rhyme

Check the hollow-point and cock back the Tec-9

For the emcees that we know that can't rhyme

Whether on tape, 12 inch, they flat-line

Either you rhyme for a livin', or livin' it for the rhyme

Check the hollow-point and cock back the Tec-9

[Verse 1: Tech N9ne]

I told ya, deep in your fros with flows, La Cosa Nostra

Hand me your souls when I approach 'em

Coast to coast, toast to indulge ya

Makes me (*backwards talking*) little backwards exposure

The time is critical, divine spiritual

Bind rituals, people keepin' away from N9ne kickables

Heard he flips 'em, rips 'em

And when he does it may God be with ya, Deus Vobiscum

Rips from here to Quebec, I will wreck in the sec', I'm at your neck

You flex, I get vexed in your ledger, so here's your best bet

Give your currency to me, how to be an emcee

Is mucho dinero, jockin' juice on mi huevos (lego)

Captain Crunch up against Fruity Pebbles

I go through the ghetto like heavy metal, pendejo

Flippin' my rapper, killer beats

Your non-rapper kill a sour beets

Crowded like Roscoe's on Gower Street

Power speech, I straight devour leaf suckers

Like they stole from my mother on Christmas (Six plus six, lift us)

Flows urkin' to blow like Psycho Perkins

I chose workin', with spirits I'm soul searchin'

[Hook]

For the emcees that we know that can't rhyme

Whether on tape, 12 inch, they flat-line

Either you rhyme for a livin', or livin' it for the rhyme

Check the hollow-point and cock back the Tec-9

For the emcees that we know that can't rhyme

Whether on tape, 12 inch, they flat-line

Either you rhyme for a livin', or livin' it for the rhyme

Check the hollow-point and cock back the Tec-9

[Verse 2: Tech N9ne]

Domestic violence time, you cannot silence N9ne

Lyrical science, mine, backstabbin' emcees to the defiance line

Fuck fools, approve this, the dudes are clue-less

If you ain't with me then you're a true diss

Who likes futuristic Battlestar Galactica rubbish?

Haters discuss it, had the number because I bust it

Like Bruce Spring, I know it stings, replacing the children

The changeling, I give 'em a brain wings

Sane dream, the invincible mainstream

Reign things, mental bacterial gangrene

B-boy 2000, we noise, we housin'

Grim display, blowin' the spot up like Tim McVeigh

Swim this way if you don't want my flow to drown ya, found ya

Down pound for pound, Killer Clown clowned ya

Sounds of trigger men, the hunter with the bigger tip

Surpass to your lyrics are igornant, I mean ignorant

The east trippin', the west trippin'

To me the best clippin' is Nina Midwest rippin' (The flippin' Mantronix)

Give the man chronic, I'm strippin' damn comics

And wrap soul snatchers, we keep the fans on it

[Hook]

For the emcees that we know that can't rhyme

Whether on tape, 12 inch, they flat-line

Either you rhyme for a livin', or livin' it for the rhyme

Check the hollow-point and cock back the Tec-9

For the emcees that we know that can't rhyme

Whether on tape, 12 inch, they flat-line

Either you rhyme for a livin', or livin' it for the rhyme

Check the hollow-point and cock back the Tec-9

[Verse 3: Tech N9ne]

Who rock the party like this?

Face to face with fade ace of spades

Is the place, then pass the blunts with laced

Close your eyes tight, extractin' souls tonight

Hold the mic right, show 'em how you were told sho' to fight

Told to write this with hypeness

Like this, priceless asswipes and trifes bite this

I feed off of the creed, I need friends, foes

Hoes and bimbos, I swallow your soul, swallow your soul, like this

[Interlude]

King Tech on the mix

Rock the beat, the-the-the beat

Rock-rock-rock, rock the beat

With Tech, with Tech, with Tech, with Tech...

[Hook]

For the emcees that we know that can't rhyme

Whether on tape, 12 inch, they flat-line

Either you rhyme for a livin', or livin' it for the rhyme

Check the hollow-point and cock back the Tec-9

For the emcees that we know that can't rhyme

Whether on tape, 12 inch, they flat-line

Either you rhyme for a livin', or livin' it for the rhyme

Check the hollow-point and cock back the Tec-9