| 作词 : Murray, Noble, Scott, Sermon | |
| Yo, now when you hear the name Keith Murray, don't think violence | |
| That's nonsense, me and Meth put that to silence | |
| I'm a product of the streets, master of the breaks and beats | |
| Lyrically headstrong and can't be beat | |
| Triple minded, mentally combineded underground pirate | |
| Microphone tyrant, always comin' sideways | |
| Come, Filthy McNasty, pretty gritty dirty | |
| Lyrical sayin' MC slayin', 'Hip Hop Quotable' | |
| Unquotable, sociable thirty-eight caliber style swayin' | |
| Open your mind to visualize what I'm sayin' | |
| The products of the streets don't be playin' | |
| It's a bloody ambush like a dirty douche in ya tush | |
| When I push, push up in ya bush | |
| Superstar status, break off beats, the baddest | |
| Style's the baddest, bring extra clips to stop the madness | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| What the deal, huh? | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| Aiyyo we ain't playin' fair no more, there's somethin' new in store | |
| A Hot Boy but not from the 504 | |
| New technique to rock the mic | |
| Lyrical 'Blade' sharp like Wesley and N'Bushe Wright | |
| Soundbombin' could be a catastrophe | |
| When NASA blast off, Flex blast off me | |
| E-vincible, rap round your left ventricle | |
| So let's be sensible | |
| E temperamental, quick to dismember you | |
| Wyclef that 'November' you | |
| They wish they can do what I can do | |
| If you could switch brains, you would, wouldn't you? | |
| My style is Mike, Vince, Earvin | |
| Jordan, Carter, Julius, servin' | |
| MC's at will, I'm trickery, Lou ain't stickin' me | |
| A curve ball, Mark ain't hittin' me | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| Yo, what the deal, huh? | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| Yo, rapid gunfire destroy ya boys and unemploy some | |
| Put the headphones on your kid like Castor Troy's son | |
| Darts'll damage ya dogs where the U-Haul in my truck | |
| The camera installed, hand upon my balls | |
| Call the morgue, I'm killin' 'em, even Kyle is not feelin' 'em | |
| When I drill 'em with skills of ten Eminems | |
| You feminine, don't even call my name | |
| I stay locked down walkin' with a ball and chain | |
| Put the mac where you tongue at, I done that | |
| These young cats'll get thumbtacked and sent where Big Pun at | |
| Smoke so much, the doc asked where my lung at | |
| I took it out to stash my gun, son run that | |
| Pop mega shit, I pop mega clips | |
| **** a system, I keep the heat where your Sega sit | |
| Then I bang the controller 'til the game say, "Over" | |
| In the Bricks, we'll stick ya when ya plane lays over | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| What the deal, huh? | |
| (Now whut's up?) | |
| Yo, y'all know me, maniacs and addicts add it, at it | |
| Venomous addict snake biter, I the, at it | |
| 'Cause I'm a little odder at it | |
| In the Ac' with the aircraft and then leave inactive | |
| My alter-ego make niggaz alter their egos | |
| I flow and turn the East coast to one big creep show | |
| South premisy, Filthy-delphia pistol bangers | |
| Pistol changin', pistol bangin' | |
| I lift metal like Lithuanians | |
| Two thousand nail me Sy Scott rap's new insanian | |
| It's humane, punish ya mayn | |
| 'Til no skeletal remains remain remain mainly main | |
| Crackin' the DNA code to see how God made man | |
| I storm the mainland, scare MC's like slave hands | |
| Put microchips in they wristbands and make 'em rain dance | |
| Lay hands like Mike Strahand | |
| Puttin' ya face and hands in Ace bands | |
| Tryin' to lift more than ya waistband | |
| I travel every shinin' sea, sea and land to finally see | |
| When niggaz land in the error era wherever, forever no error | |
| Easily cut niggaz careers down like ever | |
| Ever forever and ever, don't you ever | |
| **** with Sy, Khi and Erick when we come together, what? |
| zuo ci : Murray, Noble, Scott, Sermon | |
| Yo, now when you hear the name Keith Murray, don' t think violence | |
| That' s nonsense, me and Meth put that to silence | |
| I' m a product of the streets, master of the breaks and beats | |
| Lyrically headstrong and can' t be beat | |
| Triple minded, mentally combineded underground pirate | |
| Microphone tyrant, always comin' sideways | |
| Come, Filthy McNasty, pretty gritty dirty | |
| Lyrical sayin' MC slayin', ' Hip Hop Quotable' | |
| Unquotable, sociable thirtyeight caliber style swayin' | |
| Open your mind to visualize what I' m sayin' | |
| The products of the streets don' t be playin' | |
| It' s a bloody ambush like a dirty douche in ya tush | |
| When I push, push up in ya bush | |
| Superstar status, break off beats, the baddest | |
| Style' s the baddest, bring extra clips to stop the madness | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| What the deal, huh? | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Aiyyo we ain' t playin' fair no more, there' s somethin' new in store | |
| A Hot Boy but not from the 504 | |
| New technique to rock the mic | |
| Lyrical ' Blade' sharp like Wesley and N' Bushe Wright | |
| Soundbombin' could be a catastrophe | |
| When NASA blast off, Flex blast off me | |
| Evincible, rap round your left ventricle | |
| So let' s be sensible | |
| E temperamental, quick to dismember you | |
| Wyclef that ' November' you | |
| They wish they can do what I can do | |
| If you could switch brains, you would, wouldn' t you? | |
| My style is Mike, Vince, Earvin | |
| Jordan, Carter, Julius, servin' | |
| MC' s at will, I' m trickery, Lou ain' t stickin' me | |
| A curve ball, Mark ain' t hittin' me | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Yo, what the deal, huh? | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Yo, rapid gunfire destroy ya boys and unemploy some | |
| Put the headphones on your kid like Castor Troy' s son | |
| Darts' ll damage ya dogs where the UHaul in my truck | |
| The camera installed, hand upon my balls | |
| Call the morgue, I' m killin' ' em, even Kyle is not feelin' ' em | |
| When I drill ' em with skills of ten Eminems | |
| You feminine, don' t even call my name | |
| I stay locked down walkin' with a ball and chain | |
| Put the mac where you tongue at, I done that | |
| These young cats' ll get thumbtacked and sent where Big Pun at | |
| Smoke so much, the doc asked where my lung at | |
| I took it out to stash my gun, son run that | |
| Pop mega shit, I pop mega clips | |
| a system, I keep the heat where your Sega sit | |
| Then I bang the controller ' til the game say, " Over" | |
| In the Bricks, we' ll stick ya when ya plane lays over | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| What the deal, huh? | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Yo, y' all know me, maniacs and addicts add it, at it | |
| Venomous addict snake biter, I the, at it | |
| ' Cause I' m a little odder at it | |
| In the Ac' with the aircraft and then leave inactive | |
| My alterego make niggaz alter their egos | |
| I flow and turn the East coast to one big creep show | |
| South premisy, Filthydelphia pistol bangers | |
| Pistol changin', pistol bangin' | |
| I lift metal like Lithuanians | |
| Two thousand nail me Sy Scott rap' s new insanian | |
| It' s humane, punish ya mayn | |
| ' Til no skeletal remains remain remain mainly main | |
| Crackin' the DNA code to see how God made man | |
| I storm the mainland, scare MC' s like slave hands | |
| Put microchips in they wristbands and make ' em rain dance | |
| Lay hands like Mike Strahand | |
| Puttin' ya face and hands in Ace bands | |
| Tryin' to lift more than ya waistband | |
| I travel every shinin' sea, sea and land to finally see | |
| When niggaz land in the error era wherever, forever no error | |
| Easily cut niggaz careers down like ever | |
| Ever forever and ever, don' t you ever | |
| with Sy, Khi and Erick when we come together, what? |
| zuò cí : Murray, Noble, Scott, Sermon | |
| Yo, now when you hear the name Keith Murray, don' t think violence | |
| That' s nonsense, me and Meth put that to silence | |
| I' m a product of the streets, master of the breaks and beats | |
| Lyrically headstrong and can' t be beat | |
| Triple minded, mentally combineded underground pirate | |
| Microphone tyrant, always comin' sideways | |
| Come, Filthy McNasty, pretty gritty dirty | |
| Lyrical sayin' MC slayin', ' Hip Hop Quotable' | |
| Unquotable, sociable thirtyeight caliber style swayin' | |
| Open your mind to visualize what I' m sayin' | |
| The products of the streets don' t be playin' | |
| It' s a bloody ambush like a dirty douche in ya tush | |
| When I push, push up in ya bush | |
| Superstar status, break off beats, the baddest | |
| Style' s the baddest, bring extra clips to stop the madness | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| What the deal, huh? | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Aiyyo we ain' t playin' fair no more, there' s somethin' new in store | |
| A Hot Boy but not from the 504 | |
| New technique to rock the mic | |
| Lyrical ' Blade' sharp like Wesley and N' Bushe Wright | |
| Soundbombin' could be a catastrophe | |
| When NASA blast off, Flex blast off me | |
| Evincible, rap round your left ventricle | |
| So let' s be sensible | |
| E temperamental, quick to dismember you | |
| Wyclef that ' November' you | |
| They wish they can do what I can do | |
| If you could switch brains, you would, wouldn' t you? | |
| My style is Mike, Vince, Earvin | |
| Jordan, Carter, Julius, servin' | |
| MC' s at will, I' m trickery, Lou ain' t stickin' me | |
| A curve ball, Mark ain' t hittin' me | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Yo, what the deal, huh? | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Yo, rapid gunfire destroy ya boys and unemploy some | |
| Put the headphones on your kid like Castor Troy' s son | |
| Darts' ll damage ya dogs where the UHaul in my truck | |
| The camera installed, hand upon my balls | |
| Call the morgue, I' m killin' ' em, even Kyle is not feelin' ' em | |
| When I drill ' em with skills of ten Eminems | |
| You feminine, don' t even call my name | |
| I stay locked down walkin' with a ball and chain | |
| Put the mac where you tongue at, I done that | |
| These young cats' ll get thumbtacked and sent where Big Pun at | |
| Smoke so much, the doc asked where my lung at | |
| I took it out to stash my gun, son run that | |
| Pop mega shit, I pop mega clips | |
| a system, I keep the heat where your Sega sit | |
| Then I bang the controller ' til the game say, " Over" | |
| In the Bricks, we' ll stick ya when ya plane lays over | |
| Yo, we in the place | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| DJ, pick up the pace | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Gyrate, feel the bass | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| What the deal, huh? | |
| Now whut' s up? | |
| Yo, y' all know me, maniacs and addicts add it, at it | |
| Venomous addict snake biter, I the, at it | |
| ' Cause I' m a little odder at it | |
| In the Ac' with the aircraft and then leave inactive | |
| My alterego make niggaz alter their egos | |
| I flow and turn the East coast to one big creep show | |
| South premisy, Filthydelphia pistol bangers | |
| Pistol changin', pistol bangin' | |
| I lift metal like Lithuanians | |
| Two thousand nail me Sy Scott rap' s new insanian | |
| It' s humane, punish ya mayn | |
| ' Til no skeletal remains remain remain mainly main | |
| Crackin' the DNA code to see how God made man | |
| I storm the mainland, scare MC' s like slave hands | |
| Put microchips in they wristbands and make ' em rain dance | |
| Lay hands like Mike Strahand | |
| Puttin' ya face and hands in Ace bands | |
| Tryin' to lift more than ya waistband | |
| I travel every shinin' sea, sea and land to finally see | |
| When niggaz land in the error era wherever, forever no error | |
| Easily cut niggaz careers down like ever | |
| Ever forever and ever, don' t you ever | |
| with Sy, Khi and Erick when we come together, what? |
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