Sahara zombie?

Yeah

For all those affiliated

Yeah yeah

[Tame One]

Word is bond my songs ain't wack, and any nigga

who thinks that, they must can't rap, and can't get that

I got dues with receipts, peeps who make mad beats

So if you get souped, I add beef

Commander in Chief of the belief fonta leafs burn slower

The end knot mixin E&J with soda keeps me geeked up

So if you got weed then speak up

so I can twist up and leave you with that shit in tea cups

We bust the raps that matter, while you battle

your own boys, just to check to see who's fatter

I put it together like McGyver, bombin your rhyme cypher

Helpin to represent funk like diapers

I'm one of them prime time rhymes without rotation

but I'm patient, cause Tame One don't owe no station nathan

I'd rather hide my tape collection like I'm Nixon

Watergate nine-six in effect, the deck's missin

Chorus: El Da Sensai

Crews get taken out quick, who's the best

Tame and MC El bringin lyrics to ya chest, one two

(repeat 2X)

[El Da Sensai]

One two, Artifacts, nine-six

My forms, patterns, some might think it's arrogant

I'm transparent, but with lyrics it's apparent

That I be the greater rhyme stater with the data

Saturn Sega, player, wack nigga hater

Instant flow, like five minute grits flips

To rock for the Jack's haps be on some other shit

Uncover skits like a private dick hits

From all different directions, chop you into sections

like a jigsaw, shit be raw, rock for alla y'all tall

raps, and brawls, touch all jaws

with the gall, foot in the mix like Hammer grammar forms

Check the track, flip the song Hits From the Bong, wrong

Side bumpin in your ride

Graffitism tokin ism gaggin off the lyrical jism

New Jersey native, creative with the sorts

B-boy wishin for battles check the injury reports

But there are no flaws in this rap lord's rest

Open wide niggaz, we bring it to ya chest

Chorus