| Yo. |
| yeah.
|
| So I slid behind the van, ran down the hill quick
|
| Knight Rider episode callin KITT
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| Talkin telecom through a channel on my wrist
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| S.O.S. |
| bein sent, the superhero
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| In and out of phone booths, kryptonite
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| Whistle for a taxi beneath the street light
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| Pick me up, drop me off two blocks from the site
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| And make sure nobody knows about the secret uh-ahh uh-ahh
|
| Beware the spy brought binoculars
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| Got a strange feelin cause I know somebody’s watchin us
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| They’re comin for my music
|
| But they can’t hack it, so I’m jettin through the streets
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| Attractive, with the key in the black book of matches
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| Floatin past pedestrians, cross over the bridge
|
| Got, major with new flavor and brought it to North Ridge
|
| But, everybody wraps like a toga
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| So I took the subway to the city of Canoga
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| Build a foundation to resist the mainstream
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| S.O.B., three lethal weapons all on the same team
|
| Spread it rapidly like a sonic gangrene
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| Hangin portraits of the pitiful, so punk say cheese
|
| Pack the briefcase with explosives
|
| Walkie-talkie signal causin all types of commotion
|
| I’m still bein followed
|
| No choice but to rocket like the 13th Apollo
|
| And dissapear into the smoke, inside a genie bottle
|
| Got me caught up with Dr. Jekyll lookin for Mr. Rhymer
|
| True, radios green for the spies
|
| Spies like us see everything you do
|
| Every move you make, every last clue
|
| All the mistakes and all the check one two’s
|
| Locked in a briefcase of the S.O.B. |
| crew
|
| You know me by my alias, Tiger Trenchcoat Chan
|
| Mr. Incognito with the microphone can
|
| Place and date of birth unknown, tappin phonelines
|
| Plantin bugs in your stereo box when you ain’t home
|
| Trackin my assailants with my high tech surveillance
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| Night vision goggles with the poison dart impalements
|
| Secret art of sabotage cause train derailments
|
| Styles of Beyond recon, with deadly ailments
|
| Yo — even my wife don’t know my double life
|
| Double low on the mic, out of mind, out of sight
|
| Usin night as a cloak cause I walk my dog dope
|
| Peepin you, like a naked on my telescope
|
| Runnin through the thick smoke, slipped and broke your back
|
| On the oil-slicked tracks, they lay just like a nympho
|
| Collectin clues and info, keep tabs on crews who choose
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| To pose and rock dues in Range Rover rentals
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| Manipulate your pad and pencil
|
| To instigate a cold war over instrumentals
|
| Evacuate, ID their bodies by their dental — let the record show
|
| The victim died by deadly flows afflicted to the mental
|
| Depicted in the scene, it’s the undercover team
|
| Kickin ass like Kung-Fu, Jeru, and Carradine
|
| Roll up my sleeves in my rhymin fatigues, the party starts
|
| With a magnifying glass scope and chop the body parts
|
| Who’s responsible?
|
| Disguisin y’all constable
|
| Drape the yellow tape around the body, front page, 2nd article
|
| Obituaries filled with suckers with no skill
|
| In the line of duty hitman for hire, yo what’s the deal?
|
| For real, gag his throat, slap him if he squeals
|
| 9−1-3−0-6 information gets revealed
|
| Bloody Mary holiday, flashback, remember this evidence
|
| Clearly show you trespassed the premises
|
| Spies on the case
|
| You heard my name but you can’t match the face
|
| From out the shadows ha ha nobody’s safe ha ha
|
| Kill em all ha ha without a trace, cash double-oh
|
| Fourth and inches off the benches in comes the crowd favorite
|
| Jaded, 007 the special agent
|
| Radiant, triple X flexin with heat
|
| Break necks of those who sweat thou and try to compete
|
| Elite, for this moment in time, I steal the sunshine
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| And spit flames at any MC who try to take mine
|
| The eighth sign apocalyptic, lyrically gifted
|
| The final move you make is made against the mystic
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| The swiftest, always prevail, the human 3rd rail
|
| I exhale the smoke from molotov cocktails
|
| Propel the power conduct, uhh, I bring the ruck
|
| What the? |
| Ten seconds, this track self destructs |