Kool Keith - Lyrical King lyrics

[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