King of Fighters Lyrics
| Song | King of Fighters |
| Artist | Del The Funky Homosapien |
| Album | Golden Era |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| {Ladies and gentlemen, rap fans of all ages | |
| Tonight we have a literal state of pandemonium | |
| As Sir DzL, aka Joe Higashi, makes his way to the ring | |
| As you can see | |
| You can almost taste the electricity in the air, ladies and gentlemen} | |
| {The challenger had better live up to the trash | |
| He was talking at the press conference two nights ago | |
| Or it looks like he'll be leaving the ring fingerless | |
| After Higashi's signature scissor kick | |
| Oh, this is gonna be a good one, rap fans} | |
| I'm back with the tiger kick | |
| Joe Higashi, all team activist of spit swivel grip | |
| Crippling blows within editions of flows | |
| It's a gala of gargantuan proportions | |
| The greatest show in stereo | |
| The weary ol' drag you been hearin' is dead | |
| We playin' funk at the burial grounds and it's a merry ol' sound | |
| And a jolly good time when we body fools with rhymes | |
| Smell the burnin' flesh when the words of death | |
| Bring eternal rest or internal stress | |
| Beef or chicken, either way the meat is sickened | |
| Bacteria, we here in your kitchen | |
| Fools hearin' but they clearly don't listen | |
| Until they sittin' in a twister on they way to Oz | |
| And that's when I'mma holla at y'all | |
| 'Cause you gon' need the wizard's expertise | |
| If you expect to leave | |
| Sir Di, the midnight savior spittin' my flavor | |
| Gettin' my paper, neighbor | |
| To catch a tiger, you have to try a little harder | |
| I already commandeered you cargo | |
| Sir D-Z, the blue meanie, few see me | |
| A new species like ET | |
| I'm too pretty | |
| I can't let you hit me | |
| I'm the greatest of all time | |
| Sir DzL, King Of Fighters | |
| Bring on your bigmouths, bring on your writers | |
| They gon' be workin' overtime catchin' arthritis | |
| Bring whoever do ya hooks, bring your choirs | |
| Bring on your phony thugs, they all liars | |
| Makes no difference to Di, I'm on fire | |
| Funky with it, go ahead, touch me | |
| I'm beggin' you, come try to rush me | |
| You weak kid, soon as the beat kick | |
| You already in deep shit, may as well eat it | |
| Put your money where your mouth is | |
| In other words, you are what you eat so bon appétit | |
| So long to competition, they can't conquer | |
| Or defeat or compete, I stomp out they teeth | |
| All 32, metaphorically with words I use | |
| Physical? I ain't finna get into that right now | |
| Keepin' on the right route, promote restraint | |
| Power in the pictures you paint | |
| Go ahead, wear your stunnas at night | |
| All the better you don't see me comin' with the right | |
| Then it's the flash of light | |
| From the Polaroid captured right | |
| In your brain, then it's beddie bye | |
| Thought you could chump me like I'm just any guy | |
| Off the street and got comfy | |
| Underestimated, now you on the other extreme | |
| And got me under investigation | |
| To see why Di ain't nothin' to play with | |
| Nathan, no leads | |
| Only thing he gon' see is me punchin' bags | |
| Beats danglin' like cuts and slabs | |
| Joggin' in place doin' rhythm repetitions | |
| That'll have you jaw fall out your face | |
| You got a mouth that's out a shape, you loud and fake | |
| Stick around and wait for me to drown you in poundin' bass | |
| A boomin' system causin' you to listen | |
| Like you in prison | |
| Now you lay down by my feet | |
| Pray the Lord you get up in a week | |
| Sir DzL, King Of Fighters | |
| Bring on your bigmouths, bring on your writers | |
| They gon' be workin' overtime catchin' arthritis | |
| Bring whoever do ya hooks, bring your choirs | |
| Bring on your phony thugs, they all liars | |
| Makes no difference to Di, I'm on fire | |
| Funky with it, go ahead, touch me | |
| I'm beggin' you, come try to rush me | |
| Each fool tryin' to reach through | |
| Is gon' need new fingers when the guillotine sweep through | |
| Tissue and bone with a scissor kick to the dome | |
| Lifted you as if you were floatin', fight officially over | |
| And if it ain't, you gon' wish it was over | |
| As I issue a cobra clutch shuttin' your motor | |
| Skills down like a computer crash, takin' you to the task | |
| Rhymes ricochetin' all through your ass | |
| The movement is black | |
| Already told you it's been proven with fact | |
| How I do it like a student of rap | |
| Musically adapt to any nuisance or trap | |
| Thinkin' that they have a shot | |
| If they can just put DzL on freeze | |
| But cease | |
| I'm Joe Higashi with flow karate | |
| Wrestling gators is a old hobby | |
| Now I battle cobras and eat poison ivy | |
| Shit, jalapenos on the open highway | |
| Which hit like a meteor eatin' your established mind state | |
| How can I lose? My standards are too high | |
| For fools to view, punchin' my kneecaps | |
| With the weak raps that you so proud of not writin' down | |
| I don't care who like it | |
| Obviously style is not a part of the criteria or they not hearin' it | |
| It's disposable and holds no real substance | |
| So as soon as you step in the ring, it's self destruction | |
| Sir DzL, the championship belt you wanted | |
| I'm meltin', fuck it | |
| Bottoms up, it's just a puddle in a bucket | |
| A pot of slush | |
| Yeah | |
| Fuck the material shit | |
| He can't beat me | |
| He ain't got the spirit for this | |
| Plus he ugly and his mouth too big | |
| But this gon' be nationwide | |
| Publicly publicized | |
| You betta hope I knock you out | |
| So you ain't gotta go through the hostile rounds | |
| My tiger kick'll make your eyeballs flip | |
| My hurricane uppercut'll send you to Oz | |
| And while you there, you can ask the wizard | |
| If he can give you a job | |
| They call me Joe Higashi | |
| You can catch my flow on Hitachi | |
| Wide screen, you gon' see how I lean with it | |
| And roll with it | |
| Ol' nigga, they gon' be mad | |
| Oh, it's over that quick? I bought 4 tickets | |
| So I'm gonna give you the whoopin' | |
| You been sayin' I couldn't | |
| Soon as they strike the bell | |
| You gon' lose all sight and smell | |
| You already deaf 'cause your music sucks | |
| So only thing left is your sense of touch | |
| No, sucker, you lost your sense of taste long ago | |
| And I can tell at that ugly ass getup you wore to the show | |
| I'm too pretty, I can't let you hit me | |
| I'm the greatest of all time |
| Ladies and gentlemen, rap fans of all ages | |
| Tonight we have a literal state of pandemonium | |
| As Sir DzL, aka Joe Higashi, makes his way to the ring | |
| As you can see | |
| You can almost taste the electricity in the air, ladies and gentlemen | |
| The challenger had better live up to the trash | |
| He was talking at the press conference two nights ago | |
| Or it looks like he' ll be leaving the ring fingerless | |
| After Higashi' s signature scissor kick | |
| Oh, this is gonna be a good one, rap fans | |
| I' m back with the tiger kick | |
| Joe Higashi, all team activist of spit swivel grip | |
| Crippling blows within editions of flows | |
| It' s a gala of gargantuan proportions | |
| The greatest show in stereo | |
| The weary ol' drag you been hearin' is dead | |
| We playin' funk at the burial grounds and it' s a merry ol' sound | |
| And a jolly good time when we body fools with rhymes | |
| Smell the burnin' flesh when the words of death | |
| Bring eternal rest or internal stress | |
| Beef or chicken, either way the meat is sickened | |
| Bacteria, we here in your kitchen | |
| Fools hearin' but they clearly don' t listen | |
| Until they sittin' in a twister on they way to Oz | |
| And that' s when I' mma holla at y' all | |
| ' Cause you gon' need the wizard' s expertise | |
| If you expect to leave | |
| Sir Di, the midnight savior spittin' my flavor | |
| Gettin' my paper, neighbor | |
| To catch a tiger, you have to try a little harder | |
| I already commandeered you cargo | |
| Sir DZ, the blue meanie, few see me | |
| A new species like ET | |
| I' m too pretty | |
| I can' t let you hit me | |
| I' m the greatest of all time | |
| Sir DzL, King Of Fighters | |
| Bring on your bigmouths, bring on your writers | |
| They gon' be workin' overtime catchin' arthritis | |
| Bring whoever do ya hooks, bring your choirs | |
| Bring on your phony thugs, they all liars | |
| Makes no difference to Di, I' m on fire | |
| Funky with it, go ahead, touch me | |
| I' m beggin' you, come try to rush me | |
| You weak kid, soon as the beat kick | |
| You already in deep shit, may as well eat it | |
| Put your money where your mouth is | |
| In other words, you are what you eat so bon app tit | |
| So long to competition, they can' t conquer | |
| Or defeat or compete, I stomp out they teeth | |
| All 32, metaphorically with words I use | |
| Physical? I ain' t finna get into that right now | |
| Keepin' on the right route, promote restraint | |
| Power in the pictures you paint | |
| Go ahead, wear your stunnas at night | |
| All the better you don' t see me comin' with the right | |
| Then it' s the flash of light | |
| From the Polaroid captured right | |
| In your brain, then it' s beddie bye | |
| Thought you could chump me like I' m just any guy | |
| Off the street and got comfy | |
| Underestimated, now you on the other extreme | |
| And got me under investigation | |
| To see why Di ain' t nothin' to play with | |
| Nathan, no leads | |
| Only thing he gon' see is me punchin' bags | |
| Beats danglin' like cuts and slabs | |
| Joggin' in place doin' rhythm repetitions | |
| That' ll have you jaw fall out your face | |
| You got a mouth that' s out a shape, you loud and fake | |
| Stick around and wait for me to drown you in poundin' bass | |
| A boomin' system causin' you to listen | |
| Like you in prison | |
| Now you lay down by my feet | |
| Pray the Lord you get up in a week | |
| Sir DzL, King Of Fighters | |
| Bring on your bigmouths, bring on your writers | |
| They gon' be workin' overtime catchin' arthritis | |
| Bring whoever do ya hooks, bring your choirs | |
| Bring on your phony thugs, they all liars | |
| Makes no difference to Di, I' m on fire | |
| Funky with it, go ahead, touch me | |
| I' m beggin' you, come try to rush me | |
| Each fool tryin' to reach through | |
| Is gon' need new fingers when the guillotine sweep through | |
| Tissue and bone with a scissor kick to the dome | |
| Lifted you as if you were floatin', fight officially over | |
| And if it ain' t, you gon' wish it was over | |
| As I issue a cobra clutch shuttin' your motor | |
| Skills down like a computer crash, takin' you to the task | |
| Rhymes ricochetin' all through your ass | |
| The movement is black | |
| Already told you it' s been proven with fact | |
| How I do it like a student of rap | |
| Musically adapt to any nuisance or trap | |
| Thinkin' that they have a shot | |
| If they can just put DzL on freeze | |
| But cease | |
| I' m Joe Higashi with flow karate | |
| Wrestling gators is a old hobby | |
| Now I battle cobras and eat poison ivy | |
| Shit, jalapenos on the open highway | |
| Which hit like a meteor eatin' your established mind state | |
| How can I lose? My standards are too high | |
| For fools to view, punchin' my kneecaps | |
| With the weak raps that you so proud of not writin' down | |
| I don' t care who like it | |
| Obviously style is not a part of the criteria or they not hearin' it | |
| It' s disposable and holds no real substance | |
| So as soon as you step in the ring, it' s self destruction | |
| Sir DzL, the championship belt you wanted | |
| I' m meltin', fuck it | |
| Bottoms up, it' s just a puddle in a bucket | |
| A pot of slush | |
| Yeah | |
| Fuck the material shit | |
| He can' t beat me | |
| He ain' t got the spirit for this | |
| Plus he ugly and his mouth too big | |
| But this gon' be nationwide | |
| Publicly publicized | |
| You betta hope I knock you out | |
| So you ain' t gotta go through the hostile rounds | |
| My tiger kick' ll make your eyeballs flip | |
| My hurricane uppercut' ll send you to Oz | |
| And while you there, you can ask the wizard | |
| If he can give you a job | |
| They call me Joe Higashi | |
| You can catch my flow on Hitachi | |
| Wide screen, you gon' see how I lean with it | |
| And roll with it | |
| Ol' nigga, they gon' be mad | |
| Oh, it' s over that quick? I bought 4 tickets | |
| So I' m gonna give you the whoopin' | |
| You been sayin' I couldn' t | |
| Soon as they strike the bell | |
| You gon' lose all sight and smell | |
| You already deaf ' cause your music sucks | |
| So only thing left is your sense of touch | |
| No, sucker, you lost your sense of taste long ago | |
| And I can tell at that ugly ass getup you wore to the show | |
| I' m too pretty, I can' t let you hit me | |
| I' m the greatest of all time |
| Ladies and gentlemen, rap fans of all ages | |
| Tonight we have a literal state of pandemonium | |
| As Sir DzL, aka Joe Higashi, makes his way to the ring | |
| As you can see | |
| You can almost taste the electricity in the air, ladies and gentlemen | |
| The challenger had better live up to the trash | |
| He was talking at the press conference two nights ago | |
| Or it looks like he' ll be leaving the ring fingerless | |
| After Higashi' s signature scissor kick | |
| Oh, this is gonna be a good one, rap fans | |
| I' m back with the tiger kick | |
| Joe Higashi, all team activist of spit swivel grip | |
| Crippling blows within editions of flows | |
| It' s a gala of gargantuan proportions | |
| The greatest show in stereo | |
| The weary ol' drag you been hearin' is dead | |
| We playin' funk at the burial grounds and it' s a merry ol' sound | |
| And a jolly good time when we body fools with rhymes | |
| Smell the burnin' flesh when the words of death | |
| Bring eternal rest or internal stress | |
| Beef or chicken, either way the meat is sickened | |
| Bacteria, we here in your kitchen | |
| Fools hearin' but they clearly don' t listen | |
| Until they sittin' in a twister on they way to Oz | |
| And that' s when I' mma holla at y' all | |
| ' Cause you gon' need the wizard' s expertise | |
| If you expect to leave | |
| Sir Di, the midnight savior spittin' my flavor | |
| Gettin' my paper, neighbor | |
| To catch a tiger, you have to try a little harder | |
| I already commandeered you cargo | |
| Sir DZ, the blue meanie, few see me | |
| A new species like ET | |
| I' m too pretty | |
| I can' t let you hit me | |
| I' m the greatest of all time | |
| Sir DzL, King Of Fighters | |
| Bring on your bigmouths, bring on your writers | |
| They gon' be workin' overtime catchin' arthritis | |
| Bring whoever do ya hooks, bring your choirs | |
| Bring on your phony thugs, they all liars | |
| Makes no difference to Di, I' m on fire | |
| Funky with it, go ahead, touch me | |
| I' m beggin' you, come try to rush me | |
| You weak kid, soon as the beat kick | |
| You already in deep shit, may as well eat it | |
| Put your money where your mouth is | |
| In other words, you are what you eat so bon app tit | |
| So long to competition, they can' t conquer | |
| Or defeat or compete, I stomp out they teeth | |
| All 32, metaphorically with words I use | |
| Physical? I ain' t finna get into that right now | |
| Keepin' on the right route, promote restraint | |
| Power in the pictures you paint | |
| Go ahead, wear your stunnas at night | |
| All the better you don' t see me comin' with the right | |
| Then it' s the flash of light | |
| From the Polaroid captured right | |
| In your brain, then it' s beddie bye | |
| Thought you could chump me like I' m just any guy | |
| Off the street and got comfy | |
| Underestimated, now you on the other extreme | |
| And got me under investigation | |
| To see why Di ain' t nothin' to play with | |
| Nathan, no leads | |
| Only thing he gon' see is me punchin' bags | |
| Beats danglin' like cuts and slabs | |
| Joggin' in place doin' rhythm repetitions | |
| That' ll have you jaw fall out your face | |
| You got a mouth that' s out a shape, you loud and fake | |
| Stick around and wait for me to drown you in poundin' bass | |
| A boomin' system causin' you to listen | |
| Like you in prison | |
| Now you lay down by my feet | |
| Pray the Lord you get up in a week | |
| Sir DzL, King Of Fighters | |
| Bring on your bigmouths, bring on your writers | |
| They gon' be workin' overtime catchin' arthritis | |
| Bring whoever do ya hooks, bring your choirs | |
| Bring on your phony thugs, they all liars | |
| Makes no difference to Di, I' m on fire | |
| Funky with it, go ahead, touch me | |
| I' m beggin' you, come try to rush me | |
| Each fool tryin' to reach through | |
| Is gon' need new fingers when the guillotine sweep through | |
| Tissue and bone with a scissor kick to the dome | |
| Lifted you as if you were floatin', fight officially over | |
| And if it ain' t, you gon' wish it was over | |
| As I issue a cobra clutch shuttin' your motor | |
| Skills down like a computer crash, takin' you to the task | |
| Rhymes ricochetin' all through your ass | |
| The movement is black | |
| Already told you it' s been proven with fact | |
| How I do it like a student of rap | |
| Musically adapt to any nuisance or trap | |
| Thinkin' that they have a shot | |
| If they can just put DzL on freeze | |
| But cease | |
| I' m Joe Higashi with flow karate | |
| Wrestling gators is a old hobby | |
| Now I battle cobras and eat poison ivy | |
| Shit, jalapenos on the open highway | |
| Which hit like a meteor eatin' your established mind state | |
| How can I lose? My standards are too high | |
| For fools to view, punchin' my kneecaps | |
| With the weak raps that you so proud of not writin' down | |
| I don' t care who like it | |
| Obviously style is not a part of the criteria or they not hearin' it | |
| It' s disposable and holds no real substance | |
| So as soon as you step in the ring, it' s self destruction | |
| Sir DzL, the championship belt you wanted | |
| I' m meltin', fuck it | |
| Bottoms up, it' s just a puddle in a bucket | |
| A pot of slush | |
| Yeah | |
| Fuck the material shit | |
| He can' t beat me | |
| He ain' t got the spirit for this | |
| Plus he ugly and his mouth too big | |
| But this gon' be nationwide | |
| Publicly publicized | |
| You betta hope I knock you out | |
| So you ain' t gotta go through the hostile rounds | |
| My tiger kick' ll make your eyeballs flip | |
| My hurricane uppercut' ll send you to Oz | |
| And while you there, you can ask the wizard | |
| If he can give you a job | |
| They call me Joe Higashi | |
| You can catch my flow on Hitachi | |
| Wide screen, you gon' see how I lean with it | |
| And roll with it | |
| Ol' nigga, they gon' be mad | |
| Oh, it' s over that quick? I bought 4 tickets | |
| So I' m gonna give you the whoopin' | |
| You been sayin' I couldn' t | |
| Soon as they strike the bell | |
| You gon' lose all sight and smell | |
| You already deaf ' cause your music sucks | |
| So only thing left is your sense of touch | |
| No, sucker, you lost your sense of taste long ago | |
| And I can tell at that ugly ass getup you wore to the show | |
| I' m too pretty, I can' t let you hit me | |
| I' m the greatest of all time |
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