[Kool Keith:]
(Everybody know that) the lyrical king
(Everybody know that) lyrical king
(Everybody know that sh**) the lyrical king
(Everybody know that) lyrical king
(Everybody know that)
Little kids get scared
I smack the sh** out of a monster when I devour
That's why I sh** on Austin Powers
Watch n***az get souped up and comfortable like the Plymouth Prowler
No homerun ba*tards, I line up everybody like a fouler
Like they mix baking soda and pasta
Only thing these motherf**ers touch, is Tide and soap powder
(f**in soap powder!) Microphone perpetration I see through
I want my vocals up louder
b**h I write some verses with high octane curses
Popeye and Kentuck' sponsor
I turned down deals with Church's
Y'all f**ed up cause the Colonel made the purchase
I can't no longer support 50 thousand MC's, homeless and worthless
The sh** department, I thought you was a delivery
Packagin, I put you in charge, alright supervisin piss
My messages get across state to state when I shift doo-doo
Out on freight, I take a break
Laugh at you a**holes, with club soda and lemon cake
Listen close, examine is that the star flow?
While you talkin baboon sh** on the radio
I cancelled seein ducks at the magic show
I know some Mexicans that sh** through, the custom sunroof
bu*t-naked in Barstow
With bloodhounds on the back of the graffiti Air Force Nikes
That bark low, remember you f**in with somebody pro
I shake the piss off my dick, on your album intro
Next time you tell the engineer to bring it in slow
Toy-a** n***az, I been past n***az
Test crash dummies, I know people that work with these, crash n***az
For the last 6,008 months I've been hearin trash n***az
With f**ed up paparazzis
That think they clownin big-head motherf**ers
Hot vaginas under they crotch
I like when they bullsh** on the mic, and play hopscotch
Touch the controls, adjust your platinum and gold
Put the coke all up in your f**in nose
Don't sleep you better take that No-Doz
Ain't no motherf**er pushin kilos
Ask the motherf**er next to you, he knows
Raggy-aggy, wear your pants baggy
In front of your used Jaggy
You ain't 24 track you still macky
Opposite dress that's tacky
Y'all f**in with Jonathan Braggy
Basket of bread you grabby
Your f**in sides are overweight, can't come in here lookin stupid and flabby
LYRICAL KING~! (lyrical king)
LYRICAL KING~! (y'all know, lyrical king)
LYRICAL KING~! Motherf** it
[voice lowered:]
Lyrical king
You know the lyrical king when you see him
I don't have to reveal myself to motherf**ers nowhere ever
When I walk in the room, you rip your motherf**in papers up
You shut the studio time down
You get that motherf**er out the booth
You tell that n***a he's whack
You let motherf**ers know, who's in the motherf**in back
You serve that coffee, you serve that tea
You let a motherf**er know he's comin out the f**in teepee
f** you motherf**ers, and all you whack-a** motherf**ers
You know who the motherf**in lyrical, motherf**in king is!
s** the dillz