Songtext:
Here come the jams, yo punks, guard your domes Klebefolie Gelb It's the man with the mad new styles and funky poems So strike one, strike two, strike three, you're out Of luck, jack, fuck that, grab your nuts and shout (ain't you the masta?) yep, i've always been And then, i'm a stab a fucking critic with his pen So write that, put that in your magazine and stick it I'm wicked, just like a witch when i kick it So break out your charts and scales and try to rate me Give me a one, son, yep i hope you hate me Cause i'm a keep on bringing it, i'm swinging it Sharp like glass til your punk ass is swinging it Riff-raff, your whole damn staff i have to cut up I drop bombs, i'm fatter than your moms, so what up? I come from the planet of raps on, oh yeah Beam me up steady, there's no skills down here So there, you little punk sitting in your chair Soon you're gonna know the score kids, i swear
(ain't you the masta?) yep, i'm the masta (repeat 4x)
I hits you hard kids, you're barred from the mic and Rhymes kick like pele, rough like a dyke and Praise me, masta, off beat, the healer Rap style's deisel like an 18-wheeler So get that weak style out of my path I'm turbo, i drop lines long like nostran ave. So danger, i'm burning from monday to sunday I'm hot like some niggas 10 deep in a hyndai So make way, i drop mad heavy like the fridge I'm sacking, you're wack and you're over like the bridge This little rabbit tried to diss me, but fuck it I got duckets, one day that rabbit kicks the bucket You know (i know) you know (i know) You know, you know, well yo follow where i go Jane, stop this crazy thing if i sing Some love shit and dress mad fly, i'd be the king And be seen on the covers of like 27 books But i'm too proud to beg, so suck this, you crooks You're only as good as your last jam, it's true Your shit's new, everybody wants an interview But then, oh how quick they forget With no hit, they like "who's that?" they full of shit And straight up, my patience is starting to wear short I'm gonna land blows like your head was an airport Say cheese you theif, let me see your teeth Cause i'm ultra-magnetic, magnetic like kool keith So abra, cadabra, presto and change-o The off-beat, on-beat style is kinda strange yo It dops here, it drops there, it's off then it's on To the breaka, to the breaka, to the breaka of umm dawn Here i come with bones by the sack for Spraypaint, i tage my f-ing name on your back, punk
(ain't you the masta?) yep, i'm the masta (repeat 4x)
