Mad madness
  trashy
  brother from way back.
  We're blowin mics since the days of 8-track.
  Certified
  bonified
  pull out the weapon.
  Rusted.
  Your ho's gets busted.
  Run your jules!
  Shootin up ya damn fools.
  Leavin' your loser lazy lyricist
  in bloody pools.
  Went away
  came back
  your still wack.
  Now your slobbin Marly's mob
  for a dope track.
  Comin off like a bra
  and its the witness.
  No click-click
  a fru (?) business
  Don't care about no money
  got props in it.
  Flippin scripts
  with every letter in the alphabet.
  Wanna jump. JUMP!
  And jingle your rump. RUMP!
  Here to pump punks
  with real hot lead chunks.
  Full-grown
  I ain't no baby with these rhymes kid.
  Put the mic down
  my peoples know where ya live.
  I chop you little brittle riddle
  right up the middle
  and have the police playin the fiddle
  in the hospital.
  Somebody said, "He couldn't rip with the roughness."
  Rhymes kick your teeth
  but end up frontless.
  Soul survivor of a thousand beats
  sendin funeral wreathes
  to all ya use-to-be chiefs.
  Is a raw
  to a bearlin in the woods (?).
  Brothers tapes ain't jack
  their best tracks is wack.
  I heard you think you got a chance to win
  but my glock is stopped off
  to murder the top ten.
  Rough and rugged and raw
  I'm like a callous.
  The underground can say
  "ain't no Fra-zontin in my palace."
    Well can I be the flavor of the month?
  I got the flavor
  plus I can bump a chump.
  I got the funk
  straight from my underground hide-out.
  I freak it in the house
  and let the hits just
  ooz out.
  Bust on the scene
  to let ya know I wasn't frontin.
  Got ya screamin for my album
  so I had to do somethin.
  Write tonight
  to take a bit
  not a bite.
  And watch the (?)
  freak you with
  all my might.
  Like "Here I am to save the day!"
  I stop the tracks
  with the mic
  so I say "To chay"
  and "On Gaurd"
  when I'm swingin for your brow.
  Cause in the house of hits
  ain't no frontin allowed.
    Just when you thought
  that it was safe
  to try and chop me.
  Run for ya life
  now here somes Mr. Funky
  and I'm pissed.
  So watch how many heads
  I'll be the takeout
  boy ya better look out
  I work ya like a cook-out.
  So get the flavor
  the original Mr. Funky
  (?)
  and you watch me do my thing.
  Because I hit ya with the funk
  of the fly-talker
  and make your girl
  "Bump-bump! Get it, Get it!"
  like Luke Skywalker.
  I can't front
  I love rappin with a passion.
  Crash your head front
  into the funk
  you think I'm slam dancin.
  See when you front
  you make mad
  the alter weight (?).
  Freak this:
  "funky twin powers activate!"
  Sheik on the mic
  with the cape and muscles.
  Crushin MC's
  while their girls do the hustle.
  See other rappers
  try to dis the lords
  but yo, your dead wrong.
  Damnit, can't we all just get along?
  We'll see
  there simply ain't no frontin allowed.
  Yo, I'm out
  like the Cosby show
  peace to the Funky Child.
    Punchin your god-damn eyebrows off
  roughin it up north
  lookin' like your laugh off (?).
  It's a blash smash
  and crash from my stash.
  Be watchin your back kid.
  Your girl and the phat path.
  Talkin bout your macks and tax.
  What's with that?
  Your gettin wet like
  sloooow sex.
  Rippin on that old school kid.
  Leavin sliced as a slit
  says I wet your crib.
  No question.
  Testin the west
  and the east and
  once the ammo was released and
  I'll make your girl come and getcha.
  Hope you get the picture.
  Boy your better off
  if a pit bit ya!
  What's its like
  in the illest fight.
  Believe the hype.
  I'm givin crowds more nose jobs than Mike.
  Fight sight alright
  they bite
  spot light tonight
  is hype
  trigger happy tripe
  don't hit bite
  my owner's right.
  And ya know it's comin off
  so don't ask it.
  Snatchin the vocal
  and hotties on the rap tip.
  Mackin ya boys up.
  Bringin the noise up.
  And now ya need stitches
  because my voice cuts.
  Chainsaw
  gain more
  and riegn raw.
  And never let a brother play it
  is my main law.