Intro:
It's gonna be that, it's gonna be that sh**
Hook:
Lounge homeboy you in the danger zone (x8)
Verse 1:
Keith Murray is this mic psychosis
I break your best rapper off thousands of pieces
I'm on some other sh**, splittin' wigs with my penmanship
Kickin' flows harder then the music
So feel in your head and chest then pa** it to the next
They give it 5 mic checks and all due respect
So please fill it up and check the antifreeze
Cause this n***a Keith drop mad degrees
I launch tomahawk missiles when I talk
With promiscuous intelligence like Mr. Roarke
From New York into the world over
I walk MC's like Jesus walked on water
As my airy frequency reigns through the galaxy
I easily gets busy in phase 3
I'm the nicest MC on this side of the peninsula
Stalkin' the perimeter like a ninja
Hook
Verse 2:
The Def Squad MC's is sh**ters
On your neuro transmitters
None quitters, none forgetters
Runnin' deep like rivers (word 'em up) what is
My delivers, which is, givin' crews the shivers
I'm like a mad scientist with this son
I concoct some sh** that'll bust the sun
I got the stunky funky illest funk flow
For the glamorous scandalous world of radio
So how you want it, head crack, trips or ceelo?
I gets root deep like cavity creeps
Rockin' motherf**ers directly to sleep
A tybarrious rebel without a pause
For the cause and no clause, style is the son of noise
Peace to the hardcore, the outlaw raw
Bug, young blood thugs, smoke a ounce a day to 64 ounce jugs
In the realms of the danger
Hook
Verse 3:
Bust the contrast and how I forecast
Supersonic hyper phonic goin' on that a** paragraph
With the million dollar bionic metaphorical lyrical math
Generating off the chronic
By cooling in the dark path and the drug wrath of the ath
And the ill sh** that I craft
It's labeled as sick logic to the critics on the didicks
But they don't know the half of the half
The apparatus status of my madness is
I conjure up a new style puffin' ganja, over the hook
Causin' more trauma with my mouth then the stealth bomber
k**ing every style in the book
Like it's goin' outta style tomorrow
My style is coming from down south and cross yonder
I drop the dope sh** for ma**es of non-believers
Like spiral pa**es to bu*ter finger wide receivers
As my photo type sound gays leis and hoes my style probe
To the farthest reaches of the globe
Payin' dues got me co*kin' tools, you f**in' fools
I'm rippin' crew and no exception to the the god damn rules
This is danger
Hook