Party people rock to this...

And all my deejays cut to this...

And all my b boys break to this...

And all my fly girls shake to this...



Last Emperor's back and you know upon hearing me

Emcees are scared so prepare for Rap Tyranny

There's no comparin' me

Most men?

Fearin' me

(Broke no it's a rarity???)

Mics I hold dear to me

Cool and sincere one

People wanna hear from

Words penetrate eardrums like spearguns

Run home

Unknown places I appear from

It ain't none of that jumpin' off over here son

I clocked you

Beat you

Had to stop you

Greet you

I write rhymes in Hebrew, Arabic and Greek too

I get so high, the slightest drop is lethal

Like the South American city of Macchu Picchu

Ladies say I do my thing with a passion

Brother like the way I swing into action

When I'm not coolin' in the crib, just relaxin'

I'm out in the streets with the Red Army faction

I specialize In microphone vandalism

Surround sound, or better yet panoramic vision

People of Earth know and understand the wisdom from

Monotheism to third-world animism

I get the best of men as the record spins

I stretch my limbs and rhyme till the session ends

No matter if, we enemies or the best of friends

Against the Emp you can never expect to win...



(chorus)



Subjects and predicates

Proper mic etiquette

All beef, I'm deadin' it

Hip-Hop confederate

Face me, you better get

High priest and Jesuits

Against the Emp your attempts will seem effortless

I make the girls wanna kick their heels up

Klingon warships throw their shields up

Rippin' the reels up

Wounds never heal up

Mad Soul controls the razor-sharp steel cuts

High Tech or digital

Audio or Visual





Man or Machine can't defeat the Aboriginal

Rippin' through

My words are poisonous and medicinal

With the power to heal and at the same time, cripple you

You don't get a chance to rhyme

This is battle time

Even the brolic get silent like a pandomime

The nicest point guard couldn't even handle mine

With more magical music than Rogers and Hammerstien

I made it to the top with a crew of born losers

They told me the game was locked till I tore through it

I get more props than a movie by George Lucas

In two-thou look out for the Storm Troopers

Don't sweat mine

Learn to respect mine

I bring womb to the REC Room when it's rep time

Blast like nine shots

Travel like TimeCops

Aiyyo Mad Soul, this is where the rhyme stops