I gets dumb with the momentum of the drum

And blow MC's to kingdom come

"The future holds nothing else but confrontation"

(from Public Enemy's "Apocalypse '91")

*woman screaming*

Murray is a lyric luna tic toc

Boom I fill the room with the rough rhymes I consume

My lyrics is too fly for this world (word em up yo)

and more famous than the Jheri Curls

My rhymes correspond with the funk beat

like infrared correspond with heat

I'm malicious and vicious, puttin rappers in stitches

(yeah yeah) when I'm rippin up twelve inches (like this)

My rap style is a metallic bastard

that thrives off of battery acid (word em up)

I rhyme like I'm hungry over funk beats

for those, who shit where they eat

Reach, and your strategies'll be picked off

Cream puff sweet, I freak the sheek type of speech

The vital, verbal combat I enlist

Wraps rappers' brains up into a pretzel twist (word em up)

When I'm coastin with the funk style potion

I leave your notion dead and bloody in the ocean

I can't be beat so don't be under that assumption

I flow as long as the herb is pumpin

"Yo what kind of weed is this?"

"It's the bom bom zee baby."

"Yo this shit is WAY out!"

"Yo let's be outta here."

Come and take a ride on my bad side

You can't fuck with my style cause it's ?pasteurized?

And when I meet my match, I'm tyin em up

in the bassline and stabbin em in the spine for tryin to play fly

We got to have it like some hungry dirty stinkin motherfuckers

Always actin wild and stupid like truckers

Goin against the grain, barbecuin niggaz

in the