[Verse 1: Surreal]
I speak facts to the speaker's collapse
Release wax to prove that true MCing is back
The fans are sick of y'all, I'm the reason you're wack
I got this all under control, you just need to relax
Ride the rhythm with precision, style and grace
And keep it funky, man, like finesse digging in the crates
Write miles when I'm asleep, catch wreck when I'm awake
And if you get it twisted, then I'll set the record straight
Don't underestimate, when the kid communicate
To front out my style now would be a huge mistake
When you get caught slippin', I'm the slap in the face
To remind you of the way it was back in the day
This is the instant vintage, style that they missing
Surreal got it locked like some inmates in prison
So if you want to be down with the original sound
You gotta shut your mouth and listen
[Verse 2: DJ Balance]
No question, no doubt I can turn the party out
Control the crowd with the verbs and nouns
Like "Yes, yes, y'all" it just don't stop
I spit box words to leave the herbs lip-locked
Write fresh rhymes like I kept them in a Ziploc
Put your gun down, I verbally lick shots
And formulate lines over beats' design
To make your head nod, and your soul keep time
So in each rhyme, I increase and climb
Plant seeds to fertilize and free your mind
Have a seat, recline, relax, and listen
I translate greatness over dope transmissions
Got young ambition, but old man wisdom
Don't get it twisted, this is grown man business
So, bear witness to the rhyme fitness
I spit with divine physics because I'm gifted, son
None but the sun, uplifted
I'm blessed, and you hear it in my breath when I kick it
Pen stroke, more precise than most
Although I would rather uplift the gift than boast
If I have to, I'll leave you still as a statue
In awe of the God-given sk**, so perhaps you
Should rethink, remap them weak raps
I'm not trying to diss, but I've gotta speak facts