Intro



Ayo...(what's up?)...there's a lotta motherfuckers out here

with a style similar to mine nowadays you know what I mean?

(For reals) Be tryin' to like...they infiltrated the camp

and now they they wanna take the style and claim it for they

owns ya know? (That's how you feel?) But I'mma blow'em up

'cause it's just like whatever you know what I'm sayin'? (Whatever)



First Verse



It's too strategical and mathematical

I rotate so fast that I appear invisible

I keep it chemical, but never subliminal

The force centrifugal and spiritual

You got static? Get grounded, 'cause I've mastered electrical

Mostly mental, but don't sleep on the physical

Ignorance got'em chatterin', one even said I was a son to him

Still my LP is fatter than

his or yours, took a two-year pause

Now that I'm back on the set my foes drop like hoe's drawers

in a brothel, only dealin' with what's logical

Applied science left MC's penetrable

The leader's stroke is apocalyptic

Hostile like Arabics in Israel with automatics

And if you want it, the Monks can make it hectic

Set it off, fire burn up Jack Frost and Santa Claus

Whatever you want to do, make it clever

Whatever, whatever, whatever



[Primo Scratching]



(Unknown): "And to all y'all crews...whatever"



Second Verse



Bound to blow up, but never disintegratin'

The ultimate MC equation

Ferromagnetic, ask my pops, it's genetic

That's why I'm a weedhead and not an alcoholic

Call it whatever you want to call it

Devils just know that it's some form of arithmetic

Hieroglyphic, 'cause you can picture this shit

The state of hip-hop today is like hookers in politics

Got MCin' locked down like a convict

Blowin' up opposition as I maneuver through it

And to make sure it's overstood, I stick around

Popular like crime in ghetto neighbourhoods

Rock my crown like Shaka did, hold it down

Fuck your mind up like Joe Jackson, kids, check it out

So whatever you want to do, make it clever

Whatever, whatever, whatever



[Primo scratching]



Lord Finesse: "I gotta do my thing...I represent"

(Unknown): "And to all y'all crews, whatever"



Third Verse



Fire, flames, heat up the competition

Spontaneous combustion, like the Pope's religion

your style of emceein' is Paganism

Your rhymes make no sense, just like a Roman Christian

But your niggas soup you up like Lipton

The Gwong Jan Lin of underground emceein' strikes again

The snake bites again, but I'm immune to the poisonous

venom, ask the devil, he knows I'm dangerous

Freak on the mic, but not sexual

Call me unalike 'cause my rhymes are never homo

Make you sad, like when Cher left Sonny Bono

Fire burn Giuliani, Pataki and Cuomo

Whatever you want to do, make it clever

Whatever, whatever, whatever



[Primo Scratching]



Lord Finesse: "I gotta do my thing...I represent"

(Unknown): "And to all y'all crews, whatever