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Текст (слова) песни: UltraMagnetic M.C.`s - Critical Beatdown


one two, one two
Ultramagnetic`s in full effect
we talkin` about givin` the drummer some
you know what, Kool Keith, yo, tell `em what`s on your mind

KOOL KEITH:
I`m ready
And now it`s my turn to build
Uplift, get swift, then drift
Off... and do my own thing
Switch up
Change my pitch up
Smack my bitch up, like a pimp
For any rapper who attempt to wear Troop`s
and step on my path
I`m willing as a A-1 General
Rhyme Enforcer 235 on a rhyme test
Whatever group or vest in line
I put `em all behind
Play MC Ultra as a warning sign of my
Skill, and what my mind deserves
I smell a grape in the duck preserves
And who deserves the right to be king of the screen
And shout wack poetry
What, are you buggin`
Germs that want to law me
Quit it, before I heat your ear off
Let your burn deduct another year off rappin`
For a face I`m slappin`
Gimme applause when hands start clappin`
Now give the drummer some
CED-GEE:
Well I`m Ced
The Rhyming Force Delta
When I enter, you best take shelter
Cuz I`m dope, and yes I will melt a
Anyone who tried to even felt a
Emotion, or thought that they could hang with me
I cut you up, because you are my enemy
On my stage, interfering with my radius
So step back, cuz I`mma start to spray with this
Can, of Raid Spray
If you`re a germ, filthy like AIDS, I`ll
Clean, you up with heat
Vapors, scrubbin` and scrubbing
Like a mistake on paper, I`m rubbin`
erasin` you out like some ink
Cuz you dirty, your rhymes are stink
Like garbage, I hafta put you in a Hefty
Or instead, should I just let thee
weak MC`s accumulate like dust
Take out my duster, shine them up and
Teach... them respect
Hook `em up just like a tape deck
Mono or Stereo, cuz I`m a real pro
With a cameo, and not an afro
This beat is funky, I`m not a nympho
You know why?
Then give the drummer some

KOOL KEITH:
Some rappers are ratin` us
some are hatin` us
Some are talkin`
some debatin` us
Critically, but physically my mind is
Self-taught like a rap pro designed us
A matter to burn MC`s and toys with
Flame, 500 degrees of
Rhymes, that heat and cook and
sizzle, your brain is on the grill at
Nighttime, and what about the daytime
I hear the wack ones, they get a lot of play time
Saying they`re wack and wastin` my airtime
You`re #2 and next in my spare time
Another rhyme has to be controllin`
And for your brain, it must have been stolen
tookin`, yes, taken away
I`m on the court, and I`m fading away with a
Jumper, I shoot a rhyme in your face
Add the points while I rob the bass
Incredible, come in three dimensions
Parallel with the funky extensions
I`m Kool Keith runnin` rap conventions on
Time
Now give the drummer some

 

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