[Chorus : KRS-One (sampled)] The ultimate MC rush [Rockness Monsta] Alkatraz, who dat, they call him Rock My style 'll make jump like House of Pain And Kris Kross, playin hopscotch, I match baby Even, when I was small, I still got crazy Hard like a 3-80, and I hate these fakin' MC's (C's), flee, (flee) Flee for your temperature drops more degrees Than at 5% address and a young a** jacket in the winter Boy, don't wind up in a casket for this rap sh** [Tawl Sean] But, hold the build horse I see d**h in your future When thoughts connect It's best to step, for I shoot ya Back in the days, I knew Ruck with Rock Couldn't wait that long So, I jacked Michael J. Fox It's the top of the podium I've been blessed Preformin in colliseums and stadiums Holdin the war paladiums Ain't no funny ride From this 25 year old Ultimate MC, test me if ya want [Chorus x5] [Saukrattes] Demonstrate so street ruckus with my nouns and verbs Tamin the real mother f**ers with a thirst for words Meditate with 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, planatonic, but my style's optophonic I hate to say it, but your weak and your style's mosaic If I was rhymin, I'd be Tyson and all y'all n***as betta think 'Cause right now, y'all's runnin' wit' snakes 'Cause your weak, son, I take my time to teach one Of the meak ones, to reach, illamatic rap addict On some deffer ceaser dramatic, it's never fluke, yo So, don't panic, you could go to any other planet In any weather, you could run But, can't run forever, so whatever [Chorus x5] [Saukrates] Feelin it, y'all n***as take a peak at my man*script I'm the mother f**in pimp, The microphone is my b**h And you the john about to make a n***a rich Now get with this funk arithmatic, if you outside, make switch And step inside the abyss, n***a come ill, don't trip Say it again, "you the john bout to make this n***a rich" Man, my finger pumpin hard to resist, find an itch n***a, hold that, my trigger finger start to itch Diggin yo D, I'm on a mound with a butane fire ball Better duck, the wild pitch, I'm sick with it You were never fly, you and alls critch Be on your back, like a rash from the itch Bank is, bank is closed for the skrilla For the nit, rippin pros up, what [Chorus x5]