Here come the jams, yo punks, guard your domes
Its the man with the mad new styles and funky poems
So strike one, strike two, strike three, youre out
Of luck, jack, fuck that, grab your nuts and shout
(aint you the masta? ) yep, Ive always been
And then, Im a stab a fucking critic with his pen
So write that, put that in your magazine and stick it
Im wicked, just like a witch when I kick it
So break out your charts and scales and try to rate me
Give me a one, son, yep I hope you hate me
Cause Im a keep on bringing it, Im swinging it
Sharp like glass til your punk ass is swinging it
Riff-raff, your whole damn staff I have to cut up
I drop bombs, Im fatter than your moms, so what up?
I come from the planet of raps on, oh yeah
Beam me up steady, theres no skills down here
So there, you little punk sitting in your chair
Soon youre gonna know the score kids, I swear
(aint you the masta? ) yep, Im the masta (repeat 4x)
I hits you hard kids, youre barred from the mic and
Rhymes kick like pele, rough like a dyke and
Praise me, masta, off beat, the healer
Rap styles deisel like an 18-wheeler
So get that weak style out of my path
Im turbo, I drop lines long like nostran ave.
So danger, Im burning from monday to sunday
Im hot like some niggas 10 deep in a hyndai
So make way, I drop mad heavy like the fridge
Im sacking, youre wack and youre over like the bridge
This little rabbit tried to diss me, but fuck it
I got duckets, one day that rabbit kicks the bucket
You know (I know) you know (I know)
You know, you know, well yo follow where I go
Jane, stop this crazy thing if I sing
Some love shit and dress mad fly, Id be the king
And be seen on the covers of like 27 books
But Im too proud to beg, so suck this, you crooks
Youre only as good as your last jam, its true
Your shits new, everybody wants an interview
But then, oh how quick they forget
With no hit, they like "whos that? " they full of shit
And straight up, my patience is starting to wear short
Im gonna land blows like your head was an airport
Say cheese you theif, let me see your teeth
Cause Im ultra-magnetic, magnetic like kool keith
So abra, cadabra, presto and change-o
The off-beat, on-beat style is kinda strange yo
It dops here, it drops there, its off then its on
To the breaka, to the breaka, to the breaka of umm dawn
Here I come with bones by the sack for
Spraypaint, I tage my f-ing name on your back, punk
(aint you the masta? ) yep, Im the masta (repeat 4x)
