Canibus - The Golden Cypher lyrics

[Ras Ka**] Uhh Rap so klepto, any mic I steal Y'all n***az don't belong here like Michael Steele at a Republican Party, I go for [?] Leave cum stains on Sarah Palin's veneers for sure Like I'm in Mordor, tryin to burn the ring up The black semi knock your block off like playin Jenga Have s** with the whole world just by raisin my middle finger But y'all don't hear me though, (Inga) And just like that I'm back spittin nasty as (Foxy) Then I'ma stop servin y'all like the soup nazi Happy Days, then I'ma spin off like (Joanie Loves Chachi) Burn rubber, the Maserati mach three Screamin mazeltov at my aki (Squad) vomit at Keith Shocklee for the beat made of broccoli Got a Palestinian girl, her p**y the bomb Get it? Blew up, you can't stop me [Canibus] That's right, I wreck melody, so much energy Why get on the track if you can't stand next to me? So much energy it's a felony Your microphone memory remember me, this is your penalty You can't keep up mentally, you can't rhyme intelligently Do it on the track, can't do it in front of me You frontin, you and your man get all psyched up like it's Fight Club Times up, you lost, life s**s So does your wife s*ut, got a nice c*nt Last night we wiped white stuff on her bu*t True power cannot be achieved by fightin over the mic You can't compete with Canibus, aight?! If your hat's turned to the back and you rap be prepared to scrap You don't have to be scared of no strap Cause your mind overstand all that Fall back or no more contact with the Gods of rap Go back to the "Lyrical Law" lab, first of all you trash You can't add all the rhymes you had Your mouth is a wound and your tongue is a scab This is a concept the young mind doesn't grasp That old stick in the mud, will put a gold bullet in a gun Show you where red blood comes from But that's not what you want, you want love Where does that come from? Define that you bum One thing at a time, intertwined as one mind The proto in the prime of one perpetual line No evil one I can divide, no matter the times try No matter the lies that claim otherwise Slumdog drug lord, guns drawn, motherf** guns laws You catch a big mini-gun gun charge This is "Lyrical Law" not lyrical war This is spiritual God, get your lyrics [echoes] [K-Solo] I'm nice with everything but chopsticks Eyes couldn't see my style with gla**es or binoculars made of optics Stop it, slam it, rappers couldn't scoop a topic Let alone follow they finger to mock this Caught your hand on my style kid, put it in your pocket If you can't get it home, what the f** is the logic? Want my devices, send my boys in to send fire to the ground Hang my flag and brag, who's the nicest? My Fort Knox, like Bunker Hill, [?] emcees guerrillas Rhymin to go banana, breaks performed by Mad Drill Man chill, your man'll get k**ed And when they dump his a** off they gon' find him in a landfill If I have to I will, that's on the real I'm (Destiny's) only (Child) of the pay, on these girl group "Bills" Word to Arthur k**, Gun Hill for real Wolf Gang, Murder Mouth, it's the king of the hill