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Since you're my special friend come closer for a special treat |
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I'm going to let you touch me in a special place |
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It is never ok to touch someone else's private parts |
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Your mom and dad will tell you so |
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Yo,' eyes get blind like Tupac gettin' shot in the lobby |
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Most MCs styles is robbery of my freestyles as a hobby |
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I pick apart monkey brains and spread disease through hot zones |
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My cameos on promos seem strange like someone's not home |
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Bigg Jus the outsider, rain on your dream field |
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With styles so freakin' wet niggas, need maxi panty shields |
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Expose more moles out the closet that lead paint on your tenement |
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Got more Black thought to my Roots than most niggaz, got in |
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Their pigment, it's the baby faced lieutenant with the Luck like Luciano |
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Hardcore like Kool G Rap music made for concert piano |
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So dust off the candelabra, hip-hop's version of the super Don Dada |
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With the license to give more ass whippings than Father |
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You couldn't see me with binoculars way ahead of myself like telepathy |
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Make most crews disappear like blackheads on Oxy creme |
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Under the lights I **** up mics with my uncanny ability to heat seek |
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Through brain facilities with the science of microchemistry |
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This history of my hip-hop is too deep to be dissected |
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Bitch recollect don't even half step or try to test it black |
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Bigg Jus, I drop so much shit my anus needs an ice pack |
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In fact I'm all that, El-P yo bring the horns back |
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Right through the center of your focus picture a long silver needle |
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Piercin' the outer lens of your eyesight |
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And once again in one verse we have proven |
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We can rip all these signed big budget mother****ers |
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Peace to Stretch and Bobbito |
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Ye, olde lyrics of fire surface bombs from X-wing fighters stance |
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To B-boy actors fracture negative thirty below wind chill factor |
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The counteraction is just a helpless action of the hapless flinchin' |
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My supersonics leave you mute like Maggie Simpson |
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Taxidermist El-P I defy translation |
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Instigate and set in crates throughout your whole situation |
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Practice exposing perfection like Ricki Like exposes white trash |
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My shit, is strange X-file number 2, 6, 7 whiplash |
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Triple felon emcee minus the melanin when I bomb it |
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The type of shit, to make baby, Jessica jump in the well again |
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Sunshines or rain acid, El-P the battle master |
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Lactose breakin' down your ****in' fractals till you're flaccid |
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I'm leavin' Las Vegas, like a hundred flyin' Elvises |
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Raid, spot my prey, swoop down and cross their pelvises |
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Rat nerve like David grill smoke bitch catch my frozen frame |
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Suspended you couldn't even **** with my idle fidget |
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My birthright I'm pulling swords from stones high tone beam |
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Phonetically abort it try to distort it and catch a silent scream, fetus |
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The raw daddy tactics prove Krush Groove unstoppable |
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Testin' luck it's like suckin' on lead pink Popsicles |
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The Enigma, no one can **** with me yet but I'm not signed |
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You wanna battle, it's better to look in the mirror |
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Say, Candyman five times |
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Just a promo understand, to be the man you got |
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To beat the man, me and Bigg Jus |
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Company Flow clan, I can touch it, Mr.Len, wasup 89.9 |
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Hit me with that shit some time, Bigg Jus, Lune TNS |
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The almighty El-P, the imperial DJ Mr.Len |
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Company Flow swingin' it to you live for '95 |
