Freestyle - Lyrics - The Mix Tape, Vol. 1: 60 Minutes Of Funk - Funkmaster Flex

Yo, yeah, uhhhh 

Yo whattup? 

Yo, it's the lyrical lexicon 

The matador of metaphor 

Mista Keith Murray 

Chillin with my nigga Funk Flex 

Word up 

Got the Squadron, word up 

Word up, check it out, check 

Now, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo 

It's the return of the lyrical lunatic, still kickin rough shit 

What you say? I slap your stink ass, bitch 

I shape and build my skill like an architect 

Teflon style, rhymes be Gortex 

I'm the highest exalted ruler on the mic with props 

All this over hippin the hop bullshit gon' stop 

It beez Keith not Bill, Murray not Sweat 

Your politics be politically incorrect 

We keep it hot like sauce, flows be definite like well OF COURSE 

Def Squad cough a rough course 

You weak wack niggaz can't do me none 

Five hundred, radiant height I run with the sun 

Apparently, you need to check my pedigree 

And do the knowledge to the S-C-I-E-N-C-E 

Fake ones fear it, real ones cheer it 

Cause they all feel me from the womb of the human spirit 

With logic and reasons I justify my means 

See you on the scene, fuck you up like Tyson did to Mitch Greene 

In fact black yeah it beez like that 

If you kill my dog I'm a slay your cat 

The supersonical genitonical astrochronical 

Splatter crews, all you hear is ahhs and oohs 

Time to face the music bring you down to Earth like Papa Smurf 

I'm World Wide like on the Web, in your turf 

With full fledged raps packed with anxiety attacks 

For those who thought I wouldn't be back 

With that bone chillin horror, killin all ongoin drama 

Save the rah rah for your mama 

Bragga-tocious, prone to static 

Come through the studio, wreck the mic by force of habit 

Tantalizing, make you feel good like crying 

I can't be dissed, so you can stop trying 

And Keith Murray will prevail 

And you can eat a shit sandwich and go to hell