| What, yo, Beyond Real, baby, Joc Max, baby
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| For the 99 and beyond, yo, check it out
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| Yo, by the some of the shit y’all spit, it’s hard to keep
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| Interest in this game
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| And I know some of y’all don’t like the shit that we spit
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| We feel the same
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| See the plan ??? |
| don’t roll with a lot of niggas just a few friends
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| And I blast before a nigga even get a chance to put in his two cents
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| Don’t get me wrong, it’s all love and war
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| But my fellow black brothers like iced down jewelry in the projects
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| We attract others, bro for black rubbers
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| The way I stretch you out, you wanna test me
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| You be the artist formerly known as alive, so please don’t stress me
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| Y’all motherfuckers is too sexy, and y’all supposed to be hardcore?
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| And y’all supposed to be givin the consumer, what they ask for?
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| About to tap the plexi-glass ora, along with that glass jaw
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| Pass the microphone to my nigga Monch like Terry Bradshaw
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| Spit miraculous shit, drink Dracula’s blood, exist for centuries
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| My DNA 'ventually, mends wounds, heals injuries
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| The identity unknown for obvious extremities
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| Pharaohe the assassin who was hired to kill Kennedy
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| The murder of Malcolm X my only aborted assignment
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| Reduce my molecules than pass through solid confinement
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| The eclectic, collectively indivisible
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| Please, you’re fuckin with the wrong individual
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| Why would one even combat an entity
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| In which one is attacked by absorbing your energy
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| I already peeped your verse before you said it
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| I scan the wack shit with through the powers of telekenitics
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| Chorus: Kriminul
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| One minute to rhyme, one minute to shine, one minute before detonation
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| One time for lyrical fluctuation
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| One life to live, and though its better to give
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| We’d rather take time out, for this lyrical fluctuation
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| Most rappers try to keep it real, I go way beyond
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| My shit is airtight, more professional than Leon
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| Phenomenal bird’s-eye view, your shit is comical
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| My parables be astronomically bombing you
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| We calmin you down, yo my sound take you back in history
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| Picture me kickin Brown Skin Lady to black women in antiquity
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| Consider me the cat who got rhymes like the clouds got raindrops
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| I read the book and I been there, what! |
| y’all niggas just name drop
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| Plus, I can pronounce Pharaohe Monch, I know who the hell he is
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| Fuck He-Man or Skeletor, I master the universe like the Jigs (masta)
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| Kid I call your name out, not the alias, but your government
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| For the love of it, I tear you up and spit you out like done with it
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| I wanna be that fly new boy when the kids crack out on the table the
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| Tape or CD and hear me, shape your minds
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| Daily I do, and you the tool don’t, front like your special
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| Special meaning you just don’t got it
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| Unless you got it and you forgot it
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| Here’s the refresher, better knowledge, you could challenge your professor
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| I make kids just give up rappin
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| Some all forms of talkin
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| I frustrate you like trying to rewind on an auto-reverse walkman
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| You look confused like little kids trying to cross busy streets
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| Is it the beat, is it the rhyme that go you mindin mine like business?
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| The sign of times when the population’s like who is this?
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| But it’s 'Plex, I start a craze like sex
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| I got more styles than cinemas at Sunrise Multiplex
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| Yo, I’m rugged on streets as well as I’m rugged on wax
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| Your style’s sweet, won’t you do a song with the Rugrats?
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| I hold shit down for delf, venoms circulate up in em
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| Funny when I spin em like they in the tu-tu's
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| Sahdeeq rebukes you, refuse you like short change
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| Long range, strokin your lady with no shame
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| My flows aim, dent your chest like Tinman
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| Shake em apart, send em down the rode with no heart
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| These five here, nothin to FUCK with this year
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| You see through like Sheer, pantyhose spendin ho
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| Dubbin, analogue and digital flows
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| Screwin up your cerebral, shit you can’t even conceive bro
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| Heave-ho, off the steam ship with your weak flow
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| My style heavy like pebo, Malik cast like devo
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| The best rest ???, now sleep it off stupid
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| Krim', Pharaohe, Kweli, Complex, Sahdeeq new shit |