| So let’s start it
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| It’s time to (Get retarded)
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| Me and my man, on the side, backin' me up
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| And if you come in my face i’m smackin' him up
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| And if you try to roll i’m jackin' him up
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| And after that, yo, i’m packin' 'em up
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| A vigilante rapper, killin' and collectin'
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| After this song is finished, you be respectin'
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| Stezo lead the man in, fire like a cannon
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| Instead of buckwillin', i’m gettin' tannin'
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| Teachers, while i’m the substitute
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| You’re be termininated, so give a salute
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| Like a yield sign, slow down and keep caution
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| Like Diana, i’m the one bossin'
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| Take it as a threat, take it the way you wanna
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| Either way you take it, you know you’re just gonna
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| End up in prison on the other side of the fence
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| You know why, i’m talking sense
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| I feel it, and it’s a good sensation
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| Like a 2 year old child, doing her shoe lacin'
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| I’m talented, and like everything I invent
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| Keep the cash flow flowin', and payin' the rent
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| I invent, with the power of a sorcerer
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| They call me Stezo, E, and i’m the torturer
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| And I claim, everything from the grain |
| And all the negative stuff, is bein' drained
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| Stop it, yes it’s science, i’m droppin' it
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| There ain’t an MC out there that can mop it
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| I’m blessed with the gift, and the music is hype
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| Knock a human out once, and say good night
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| When i’m talkin' sense, I mean intelligence
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| And all that stuff you’re sayin' is irrelevant
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| I’m not bein' Einstein or a scientist
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| You play with me, yo, play at your own risk
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| Just listen to what comes out my vent
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| You know why, i’m talking sense
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| People gather around like it’s a ritual seance
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| Listen to the mic control as I spray chaos
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| MC wish me, like I’m a god, idol
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| This, nonbelievers, is served the non sightful
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| Girlies talkin' bullets, that my life
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| 'Cause that’s what I chose for the sacrifice
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| Breakin' wise on the rhythm, 'cause the beat’s so frantic
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| Rockin' the mic, for Blacks, Whites, and Hispanics
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| Shootin' the rhymes, so they come out clear
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| Devastated to your mind, right from the ear
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| Rhyme staged, like a bull on a rampage
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| Not a old school, but a new age
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| A style, that makes it so illy |
| So get on the dance floor from night and tilly
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| I, tell the DJ, to commence
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| And pick up the mic, and talk sense |