"The-the Ultimate MC, what?"
[Rock]
Ha, Al Catraz, who that, some call him Rock
Yo, one shot'll make you Jump like House of Pain or Kriss Kross
Playin hopscotch, I got the mach' baby
Even when I was small, I still hit crazy hard like a 3-80
And I hate these fakin MC's, please
Flee or your temperature drop more degrees
Then a five presenter dressed in a young a** jacket
In the winter, wit no independent casket for this rap sh**
[Ruck]
Behold the pale horse, I see d**h in your future
Wit thoughts connect, it's best to step 'fore I shoot ya
Back in the days, I knew Ruck would Ruck
Couldn't wait that long so I jacked Michael J. Fox
Since the d**h of the Delorian, I been best performin in
Coliseum and stadiums, holdin the war palladiums
Ain't no funny vibe from this 25 year old
Ultimate MC, test me if you hold
"The-the Ultimate MC, what?" (4X)
"The-the Ultimate"
[Saukrates]
Chemistratin street ruckus wit my nouns and verbs
Hated the real muthaf**as wit a thirst for words
Meditate wit me dude, alone in my own zone
Come and get high, my sh**'s homegrown
Bionic, hydroponics, I rap til I'm blue like Sonic
Deliveries, monotonic, but my style's octophonic
I hate to say, but you weak and your styles prosaic, man
If rhymin was fightin, I be Tyson
And all ya n***as better think, cuz right now ya runnin wit sphinx
Cuz you're weak son, I take my time to teach one
Of the meet one's, or reach one
Illamatic rap addict, on some d**h of Caesar dramatics
It's never fluke yo, so don't panic
You can go to any other planet, and any weather you can run
But can't run forever, so whatever
"The-the Ultimate MC, what?" (4X)
"The-the Ultimate"
[Saukrates]
(Feelin it, ya n***as give a peep, in my man*script)
I'm the muthaf**in pimp, the microphone is my b-i-itch
And you the John about to make a n***a r-i-ich
Now get wit this, funk arithmetic
If you outside make a sw-i-itch, and step inside the ab-y-yss
n***a come ill, don't tr-i-ip, say it again
You the John about to make this n***a r-i-ich
Man, my finger pump it, hard to res-i-ist
Find you nitch, n***a, hold that, my trigga finger start to i-i-itch
(Diggin your ditch) Yea I'm on the mound wit a butane fireball
Better duck the wild p-i-itch, I'm sick wit it
You will never fly, you're a ostr-i-ich
Uh, be on ya back like a rash, I'm the i-i-ish
Bank is, bank is closed, for my skrilla for the n-n-ni, rip-rip it
"The-the Ultimate MC, what?" (4X)
"The-the Ultimate"