Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Exact, artist - Benefit
Date of issue: 31.12.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Exact |
Making MCs freeze and drop to their knees |
Like getting caught smuggling ki’s to Caribbean seas |
At ease, I puff trees till I look Chinese |
And immigration says «Can we see your green card please?» |
My rhymes never ricochet needless to say |
I’m just like the word kill only minus the K |
If you hear my track play close your eyes and pray |
I’m just like the word basic only minus B-A |
Top of the food chain rub your brain with coarse grain |
Sandpaper dipped in glue and glass so there’s more pain |
I haven’t reached my whole goal till I’ve got your whole soul |
Over beats so hot that they stop drop and roll |
Extravagant far from arrogant it’s just apparent |
That I’m better than any MC and I’m declaring it |
I’m giving stitches to phony bitches acting vicious |
Chefs around the world claim my flavor’s delicious |
When it’s talent they lack, then it’s beats they rob |
I shine so bright the sun had to quit his day job |
It takes dedication to rip the ill iteration |
Quite amazing blazing hotter than Cajun incineration |
Crime MCs pretending to be deadly and steady with the gun |
In reality they’re ready to run |
Before you learn to run, you have to learn to walk |
I’ll help the cops out and write my rhymes around you in chalk |
I got the deaf people hearing this, blind people seeing this |
Paralyzed from the neck down still feeling this |
Deaf people hearing this, blind people seeing this |
Paralyzed from the neck down still feeling this |
I don’t give a fuck like I’m celibate |
The truth, I’m telling it, battle MCs for the hell of it |
Why you get bent just selling it, that’s irrelevant |
It’s evident Benefit’s beyond intelligent |
Go ahead and bite, my style isn’t edible |
My rhyme’s a jawbreaker, type incredible |
Pitiful, that you’re not taking me literal |
Left in the hospital, shaking a little |
I’m breaking a little; |
you break in the middle |
Of your body cuz you’re weaker than the strings of a fiddle |
My style’s deeper than the themes of a riddle |
Time to belittle, no chance for acquittal |
The judge and the jury sentence you in a hurry |
To get beat down in a microphone flurry |
I don’t worry, but my eyes are getting blurry |
Cuz I see so many phony fakes of fury |
Touch this, and you can catch one fist |
Right through the center of your chest, won’t miss |
You’re hopeless, even with the chrome vest |
I still penetrate to your heart, don’t test |
I’m the sickest MC, the quickest to be fighting dirty |
You’re biting early, quit acting girly |
I grab my trusty pen out of my right pocket |
And stab you in your brain right through your eye socket |
When I battle you with wordplay you can’t walk away |
Cuz I’ll break both of you legs and crack all your vertebrae |
With only one look you took and your whole crew shook |
I don’t need a phone book because I’m always off the hook |
Grab your head twist and crunch like twisting a Dutch |
Then battle crippled kids and beat them down with a crutch |
I calmly casually humiliate your family |
Punch your mom in the face for raising a whack MC |
Bend your sister over yelling «Who's your daddy?» |
When she replies me I simply put it in slowly |
You’ll never be the thug you wanna be even with the bid |
Even if you did cross me I’d get even with you, kid |
Occasionally I really start to hate the phony |
So I reflect reality through my testimony, do you know me? |
I spit a flash flood to splash blood and, rash, dug |
A grave in fresh mud for the last thug |
Who came incorrect and didn’t respect the intellect |
Recollect he who drove in the fast lane wrecked |
The industry slept while true fans paid attention |
Tales of battling a legend whenever Benefit’s mentioned |
I’m sicker than the average man when tearing into competition |
Whose ears are blistering from listening |
For fame I’ll rip the skeleton out your flesh frame |
And rearrange your bones to spell my name |
Still feelin this |